


i know i can love you much better than this

by warsfeil



Category: Fruits Basket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gender Confusion, Gender Issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warsfeil/pseuds/warsfeil
Summary: Akito Sohma is four years old when she becomes an orphan.In which Ren dies in childbirth and Akito is left without a parent at all -- which, as it turns out, might be preferable.
Relationships: Sohma Akito/Sohma Shigure, Sohma Kyou/Sohma Yuki
Comments: 32
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't going to post this as a chaptered fic but then it got away from me and now i'm 25k in so i suppose i need to admit that it's going to be chaptered. tags will be updated as the fic is updated, but know that there will be several non-canonical pairings as the fic rapidly spirals out of control due to the butterfly effect!

Akito Sohma is four years old when she becomes an orphan.

On paper, she has a guardian; an interim caretaker until she reaches adulthood. There is no discussion of who should take care of her, or what she should do, or how her life will change -- it simply happens around her, a shifting of people and belongings as though it’s that easy to replace someone. As though it’s that easy to make up for the loss of the only remaining parent she had.

“I don’t have parents,” Akito says. She holds onto the box the maid has given her: it’s empty, she thinks, but she likes the idea that it isn’t. That her father is inside; that her mother is inside. The box is cold to the touch, and it’s nothing like the warmth of her father when he held her.

Even that warmth is starting to feel different in her memory, her father’s dying words resounding in her head until the meaning is slowly twisting away from her.

“You have us,” Shigure says. “More specifically, you have me.” 

Akito looks at him. Her mind twines the words around, unraveling them into the kind of coherence that she can understand. It’s a struggle to get there: Shigure is older, and she thinks he must have been born speaking in full, confusing sentences. 

“You won’t leave me,” Akito says, but it isn’t quite a question. If it was a question, that would leave room for Shigure to say that he might leave, and he can’t. 

“I won’t leave you,” Shigure agrees, and holds his arms out so Akito can climb up, to rest against him. He’s warm, and she can feel the whisper through the back of her mind: this is hers, and it won’t change. Shigure won’t leave her side, and neither will the rest of them. She’s special; they’re special. They belong together.

Akito stays there until the maids fetch her to bring her into an empty home.

-

Akito makes it a week before she leaves.

It isn’t exactly a conscious decision. She wakes up from a nightmare, and there’s no one there but the maid in the adjoining room, already in a sleep deeper than Akito can rouse her from. But Akito is four, and the nightmare leaves fear in the waking world, and so she runs across the estate. She reaches out and pulls on the only thing she can reach: the bond. It isn’t meant for that, and she’s powerless, but she holds onto it like it’s a lifeline. Proof that she isn’t alone. Proof that she is loved.

She gets lost. The estate is different at night, and what by day is as familiar as her own face is terrifying under the moonlight. The trees reach up so high they can touch the tips of clouds, and the shadows they cast are dark and moving on the ground. She doesn’t know the house she’s at, and she knows -- she _knows_ \-- that there is no one in the estate that would hurt her, no one that wouldn’t help her.

But she remembers the way the servants spoke of her mother; she knows the reason that she was given a boy’s name and kept her hair short. There are people who think she should never have been born; there are people who think she should have been born different. 

She hides. She ducks under an overhang on a porch, pressing behind the latticework and burying her face in her knees and cries. 

_Come find me_ , she thinks, but she doesn’t know who she wants to find her. She wants her father; she wants Shigure; she wants the mother she’s never known, the mother she conjured in her imagination instead of the one she hears whispers about. 

Kureno is the one who finds her, in the end. 

“Kureno,” Akito says. “Kureno!” He’s backlit by the morning sun, and when he reaches out, she goes into his arms, latches on and cries even though she’s been crying for hours.

“Everyone’s been worried,” Kureno says, softly. He picks her up, and she wraps her arms around him. She doesn’t let go when he takes her back to her house; she doesn’t let go when the maids all crowd around them. 

Akito doesn’t know what to say to them. Why were they worried? Why is she so special that she could be so safe and yet cause so much worry? 

“We’ll get you cleaned up,” one of the maids says. She puts a hand on Akito’s shoulder, and Kureno moves to set her down on her feet, so Akito buries her face in Kureno’s shoulder. 

“I want to stay with Kureno,” she says.

The maids murmur; Akito ignores them. 

“I want to stay with Kureno,” Akito repeats, and her voice cracks, because she doesn’t want to be alone again. She shouldn’t be alone; she should be with someone, forever. They belong to each other. 

“It’s alright,” Kureno says, softly. “It’s alright.”

-

“Your parents just let you move in?” Shigure asks. Kureno is unpacking his clothes into the closet, and Akito is half watching him and half concentrating on drawing, but she’s out of orange and the entire thing looks a little crooked.

“They said it would be fine, since this is the safest place,” Kureno says. Shigure whistles, hands in his pockets as he leans back against the wall. 

“Hey, can I move in, too?” Shigure says.

“No,” Hatori says, before Akito can even think about answering. “You’re a terrible influence as it is.”

“You’re not the head of the family, so you can’t stop me,” Shigure says, with an airy wave of his hand. “Can I move in?”

Akito can tell this is directed at her, and she looks up, frowning. She opens her mouth, then looks at Hatori, who shakes his head; at Ayame, who appears to be completely occupied sorting Kureno’s clothing before Kureno can hang it up; at Shigure; at Kureno himself.

“Hatori is smart,” Akito says, “so if he says no, then you shouldn’t.”

“You’re the bad influence here, Haa-san,” Shigure says, letting his shoulders slump forward. He looks deeply depressed by the idea, so Akito stands up, stepping over.

“You can visit,” Akito says, sincerely. “You can have this.”

“Oh, how wonderful! A drawing of an apple,” Ayame says, with complete confidence. “But what’s that black thing? An ant, intent on a good meal?”

“It’s a _bird_ ,” Akito says, frowning. “And a _dog_.” 

“You really messed that one up, Aaya,” Shigure says.

“Oh, my apologies,” Ayame says, immediately contrite, looking back down at the drawing with a new light in his eyes. “You’re correct. I can see it very clearly now.”

“Give it back, I’ll fix it,” Akito says, but Shigure lifts it out of her reach before she can grab it, letting his other hand fall down onto the top of her head.

“I like it the way that it is,” Shigure says, and Akito frowns.

“Are you making fun of me?” Akito asks. 

“No,” Shigure says.

Hatori sighs. “This is why you’re not allowed to live here,” he says, and Akito thinks it’s remarkable how much he can sound like one of the ancient Sohma servants.

-

For the sake of propriety (which is a word the maid has to teach to Akito), Kureno has his own room, and Akito has hers.

“If I’d been a boy for real,” Akito says, sitting on Kureno’s futon in the early morning and watching him gather his belongings for school, “I bet we could have shared a room.”

“Do you want to be a boy?” Kureno asks, curiously. 

“Everyone says my mother wanted me to be a boy,” Akito replies. She doesn’t know a lot about her mother -- there’d been discussions here and there, whispers in the corners. She doesn’t think her mother would have liked her. She knows her father blamed her for her mother’s death, knows that the amount of love she received was less because of it. He’d hold her in his arms and he told her that he loved her, but she remembers his face when he was dying. That was when she realized that sometimes, people would lie to her. That sometimes, she wouldn’t be enough.

It doesn’t matter, because she has the juunishi, who will love her no matter what. She can tell herself this, and it rings true when she can feel the bonds in her heart, the weight in her stomach.

“I like you the way you are,” Kureno says. Akito turns faintly pink, because she’s pretty sure that everyone is supposed to like her, but people don’t usually say it like that.

“You can stay in here whenever you want,” Kureno says, with a smile. 

“I will,” Akito says, and then she buries herself underneath his covers. 

“I’m off,” Kureno says, and pats the approximate location of her head as he heads out.

-

Akito’s life revolved around two things: her father, and the juunishi. With her father gone, she redoubles her efforts on the juunishi. She doesn’t want to be alone, no matter what, and she can feel the echo of the promise like a medicine in her veins: she won’t be alone, they won’t let her, they’ll stay by her side.

But she’s still a child. 

There’s only so much she can do, because there’s only so much that she knows. She knows the things she can see and touch and feel: she knows the heavy fabric of her kimono, and she knows that it’s strange that she’s been dressed as a boy all her life. She knows the bond is there because she can feel it; she knows the juunishi love her because they say it; she knows that Kureno stays with her because she can see it.

It feels like reciting a poem, sometimes. All the things that she knows, disconnected knowledge she’s gathered over the few years of her lives, with a mind so small she struggles to put any of it together the way that she wants to. 

She wants to know more. She wants to do more. She wants to have more, but the only thing she can manage is to reach out for something she can’t even explain.

-

Akito climbs into Kureno’s futon more often than not. It isn’t, technically, big enough for the both of them, but he always scoots over to the edge and she curls up next to his back.

“It’s okay for me to stay here,” Akito says, one night, when Kureno’s breathing hasn’t evened out into the sound of him sleeping. “Isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Kureno says. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I heard the maids talking,” Akito says, softly. “One said that it wasn’t proper, but the other one said we were like siblings. But I don’t think of you as a sibling, Kureno.”

“What do you think of me as?” Kureno asks. He rolls over; there’s a dim glow across the room from the moonlight outside, and Akito can make out his familiar features.

“You’re just Kureno,” Akito says. “Do you need to be something more than that?”

“No,” Kureno says. 

Akito moves in closer, rests against him until she can hear the reassuring beat of his heart. “We’ll always be together, right?”

“Yes,” Kureno says, and Akito believes him.

-

Living with Kureno is different. He isn’t an adult, so there’s a maid around, usually -- if not in the house itself, then near enough to be called and to check in on a moment’s notice. But it isn’t Kureno’s presence so much as Akira’s _absence_ , Akito thinks; the absence of her father means that the rest of the juunishi are more prone to coming in.

“Shigure!” Akito is always delighted to see him, and hops up into his arms. 

“I brought Aaya,” Shigure says, cheerfully. Akito is still a bit dubious on Aaya -- she’s not sure if he’s really as dumb as he seems, and he’s definitely a little louder than she likes -- but Shigure seems to like him, and she trusts Shigure. 

“Shigure-niisan,” Kureno says, politely. Kureno is polite and kind and all the things that Shigure isn’t, actually, which means that Akito likes seeing them next to each other, likes seeing the difference in reactions.

“I brought a game!” Ayame says. “Tori-san has decided, regrettably, to stay behind for this most momentous occasion, so I’m afraid it will just be the four of us.” He sets a board game down on the table, and Kureno sits down, automatically; Shigure sits down and deposits Akito between he and Kureno, which is exactly where she wants to be. 

“How do you play?” Akito asks. 

“Well, I don’t have any idea!” Ayame says, cheerfully, and Kureno takes the rules with a smile, reading over them and explaining them as they go. 

Akito isn’t very good at the game, which is fine: Ayame and Kureno go easy on her. Shigure doesn’t, though.

“Why are you so mean,” Akito grouses, when she’s lost for the second time in a row.

“Hmm,” Shigure says. “Is it mean to be better than you at something?”

“Yes!” Akito says. “I’m your god, I should be better at things! Or at least, you should let me win.”

“No,” Shigure says, simply. “You’ll just have to get better at things.”

-

Shigure tells her “no”. He tells her that something is rude, and he ignores her tears when she’s furious, doing the bare minimum to comfort her unless it’s a worry that he’s deemed worth the hassle. Akito hates it, at first, and then it _spreads_ : Hatori tells her to sit still more often, Kureno tells her to finish her vegetables, even _Ayame_ tells her when she’s hurt a maid’s feelings.

“I don’t understand,” Akito says, finally. She says it to Hatori, when it’s just the two of them, because Hatori is the quietest and the kindest of the group. He’s at his house, and his parents have let Akito in with the barest of glances, letting her sit by his side as he studies. He doesn’t explain anything as he works, but he answers her questions when she asks them.

“What don’t you understand?” Hatori asks.

“Everyone said that I was special,” Akito says. “Like I could do whatever I wanted, because I was god, and because I was the heir. But if I do whatever I want, it’s rude, or it hurts people. I didn’t know it was going to be hard!” 

“It’s hard for everyone,” Hatori says, calmly. “No one is born knowing right from wrong.”

“I thought it meant I was always right,” Akito says, and she knows she sounds childish, but everything that Akira had said, everything that so many of the maids had said feels like it was wrong, now, and she doesn’t want to admit it. She doesn’t want to think about how many things her father was wrong about.

“You’re god to us,” Hatori says, gently, “and so we’ll never go against you, if that’s what you want. However, you’ll have to deal with all sorts of people, when you’re the head of the family -- sensitive people, arrogant people, annoying people, and many of them might not think you’re special at all.”

There’s an enormity to it that Akito can’t quite wrap her head around. The idea of a world that big -- with that many people beyond the walls of the Sohma estate, with that many problems and that many families -- is something she can’t comprehend when her whole life has been spent in the same space, with the same people.

“I don’t want to be with anyone but all of you,” Akito says. “I want to be with people who think I’m special.” 

“We’ll be with you,” Hatori says. “I think that one day, you’ll want to make bonds outside of just us. You’ll want people who think you’re special for more reasons than just our bond. So until that day, let us help you learn how to show everyone your kindness.”

“Promise,” Akito says, a little uncertainly, “that you won’t get mad at me, even if I make a mistake?”

“Akito,” Hatori says, and allows her to nestle into his side, to worm her way against him until any hopes of him continuing to write is out of the picture, “I promise that you’ll always be special to me. I’ll always forgive you.”

-

Akito starts school, by correspondence.

“Why can’t I go to school?” Akito asks. Everyone else is at school. She’d made onigiri with Kureno for his lunch, and he’d taken her misshapen attempts instead of the much nicer looking ones that the maids had offered him.

“You’re too important,” the maid says. Her name is Sayuri, and Akito doesn’t mind her, exactly, but she always speaks so politely that it borders on annoying. She talks to Akito like she really is a god and not just Akito, which should be great, but it’s mostly frustrating.

“Isn’t school important?” Akito asks. She’s needling, and she knows it, but she’s been watching the way Shigure can control a conversation when he wants to and she’s filled with jealousy at how easy it seems to be for him.

“Yes, so you’ll attend the best schools,” Sayuri says. “But it would be dangerous for you to go and mingle with normal people. You could be sick, or hurt.”

“But I don’t even transform,” Akito says. “Everyone else goes and it’s more dangerous for them.”

“They’re attending all-boys schools,” Sayuri says.

“But,” Akito says, the frustration leaking into her voice. “I want to go!”

“Akito-sama,” Sayuri says, “please, you’re spilling your tea.” 

Akito looks down at the table and flushes with anger. 

“I don’t care!” she says, and she gets up and leaves the room, because all she can think about is how many people have left her behind -- for a day, for a week, forever. She wants to follow them.

-

“I heard you had an argument with the maids,” Kureno says. Akito doesn’t move; she’s laying across the floor, watching the gardens even though nothing is happening. When Akito doesn’t reply, Kureno steps over, dropping down to sit next to her with his legs hanging over the edge of the porch. He’s getting taller, these days; his arms are getting stronger when he lifts her.

“They’re stupid,” Akito mumbles, finally, when the silence starts to get to her. “And ugly.”

“That’s mean,” Kureno informs her, delicately, but he doesn’t actually tell her not to say it. Akito huffs, but reaches out for his hand. He gives it to her, and she drags it underneath her, laying her head on it like it’s a pillow, cushioning it between both of her own hands. 

“I can be mean,” Akito says, a little bitingly. She doesn’t think she’s a mean person, but she knows she can do mean things, especially if it’ll get her what she wants -- but all the meanness in the world doesn’t seem like it’ll let her go to school, and she doesn’t know what other options she has at her disposal.

Which mostly just makes her want to be meaner.

“Everyone can be mean,” Kureno says. 

“You can’t be mean,” Akito says.

“I could be mean,” Kureno argues.

Akito pushes herself up to look at him, calculatingly. She tries to imagine it, superimposes Kureno over some of the (mean) things Shigure has done, like not letting her win at games. It doesn’t work.

“You couldn’t be mean,” Akito says. Kureno frowns, like this is a debate he actually wants to win, like something is riding on this.

“I could,” Kureno says. “I could move out.”

“But you won’t, so you can’t,” Akito says. 

“I _could_ ,” Kureno says.

“You _won’t_ ,” Akito says, and Kureno sighs. 

“I won’t,” he agrees, “but what would you do if I did?”

“I’d cry,” Akito says. 

“And after that?”

Akito scrunches her face up, because she doesn’t know where this conversation is going or how it relates to being mean to the maids. “I’d cry until you came back,” Akito says.

“What if I never did?”

Akito tries to imagine it. “Why wouldn’t you come back if I cried?” 

“Well, that would be mean,” Kureno says. He reaches up with his other hand, tucks her bangs back behind her ears. “It would be mean of me to not care if you cried when you were sad, or lonely.”

Akito thinks about pointing out the obvious -- that Kureno has always, and will always care when she is sad; she thinks that it must hurt him, when she’s sad -- but decides not to, because she’s still trying to get to the bottom of this entire conversation.

“What would you do then? If I still didn’t come back, no matter how much you cried?” 

“I’d make you come back,” Akito says. “If you didn’t come back because I was sad, then I’d get angry, and I’d make you come back.”

“You’d be mean,” Kureno surmises, and Akito wraps her mind around that perspective. It doesn’t quite fit, because the idea of dragging one of the juunishi close to her can’t be _mean_ , in her mind -- but if they didn’t want to do something and she made them do something, then that probably _would_ be mean. 

“You’re saying,” Akito says, carefully, because Kureno will always help her reach the conclusion without making fun of her, “that if I’m mean, people will be mean, too?” 

“And when people are mean to you, you’ll want to be mean back,” Kureno agrees. “So it’s important to try not to be mean as often as you can.”

“Everyone here has to be nice to me,” Akito says. “I’m the head of the family. I’m god.”

“You are,” Kureno agrees. “But if you were allowed to go to school, people there wouldn’t have to be nice to you. If you leave the house, people won’t have to be nice to you.”

Akito swallows this down. She resists the urge to say that she doesn’t want to go to school at all then -- it’s a lie; she wants to see the world the rest of them see, to try to see it through their eyes -- and lays back down, instead, fingers lacing through Kureno’s.

“They’re still dumb,” Akito says, and Kureno runs his fingers through her hair. 

“Well,” Kureno says, “try not to say that to them.”

-

“Akito-san,” the maid says, in exasperation, “you need to focus.”

Akito does not focus. She tries, but the work she’s doing is so _boring_ and she’d rather just have Kureno go over it with her once he gets home, because he can explain it way better than anyone else.

“I don’t want to,” Akito says. 

“School is important,” the maid says. She isn’t Sayuri, but she’s echoing her words, and it makes Akito’s skin raise in irritation.

“Then why can’t I go like everyone else?” Akito demands.

“You’re too important,” the maid says. “You shouldn’t be forced to mix with normal people like that.”

Akito frowns. She closes the cover of her notebook a little too hard: the sound makes the maid jump, and Akito feels bad almost immediately. She doesn’t apologize, she just looks back at the clock.

“I’m going to go wait for Kureno,” Akito says, and the maid doesn’t stop her when she runs outside. She doesn’t go farther than the front gate, just waits next to it until she hears the familiar sound of everyone approaching. 

“Shigure!” Akito says. She bounds forward, and Shigure reaches out, swings her up into a hug that sees both her feet removed from the ground as he steps back onto Sohma grounds proper. “What was middle school like? Was it fun? Your uniform still smells new. Were there lots of people?”

“Tons of people,” Shigure says. Kureno reaches out, takes Shigure’s bag along with his own to leave Shigure with both hands free to hold Akito. Akito flings her arms around him the second she’s able. “It was fun.”

“Oh, it was more than fun!” Ayame says. “To think, so many varied people present at a building, united only by the shared bonds of age and a pursuit of knowledge! Truly, it’s humbling to think about.”

“Aaya, do you even know what “humble” means?” Shigure asks. 

“Of course,” Ayame says, primly. “I didn’t say that it applied to me, of course, as I am in the pursuit of beauty and the bonds of man.”

“What’s a bond of man?” Akito asks.

“It isn’t anything,” Hatori says. “He’s making things up.”

“Oh,” Akito says. 

“It’s not made up! It’s very important to the development of all young men! The bonds formed in middle school shall be long-lasting and pure, forged in the fires of our youth!” Ayame says.

“Can I have a bond of men?” Akito asks, and Hatori lets out an aggrieved sigh.

“Of course you can!” Ayame says. “Of course, it will be harder for you, since you’re a girl -- or perhaps it won’t be hard at all! I don’t know, as I’ve never had a bond of women, though I assume the general concept is the same--”

“Aaya,” Shigure says, amusement in his voice. 

Akito watches Ayame go with wide-eyes, wondering exactly how someone can have that much energy _all the time_. The maids tell Akito that she has too much energy, but she’d much rather nap on Shigure or Kureno or Hatori than deal with Ayame for very long. Not that he isn’t nice, but…

“How’s,” Akito says, “Yuki?”

“Ahh, my younger brother?” Ayame says. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“You don’t know?” Akito asks.

Ayame blinks. “Well, we don’t spend very much time together.”

“I want to meet him,” Akito says. “I want to spend time with him. You don’t want to?”

For a moment, Akito sees a sight that she can’t say she’s even seen before: Ayame looks lost for words. He frowns for a brief second before he recovers. 

“Shall we go see him together?”

“Is that okay?” Akito asks. She’s been asking since she heard the rat had been born -- a rare occurrence, something almost as rare as her birth, she’s heard -- but he’s still young, and everyone acted like that meant they couldn’t be friends. She was pretty sure Shigure had been friends with her before she was born, so she didn’t know why she couldn’t see Yuki.

Ayame looks at Hatori.

“Ask your parents,” Hatori says. “We’ll wait outside.”

Ayame grins, and Akito drops down to her feet once they make it to his house. He isn’t gone for long -- it’s only a few moments before he slams the door open. There’s a boy behind him, pale and grey-haired, and he looks a little afraid of the entire situation until he catches sight of Akito. 

“Ah,” Yuki says. He tears up, and Akito steps forward; she reaches out to hug him, and very slowly, he hugs back. It’s strange, to be hugged by someone so much smaller than her when she’s so used to the older juunishi. Somehow, Yuki seems even smaller than Kagura and Ritsu, which is pretty impressive. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Akito says. She can see Yuki and Ayame’s mother watching in the background, but she doesn’t care. 

Yuki is slow to smile, but he does it eventually. “It’s nice to meet you,” Yuki says. 

“Akito-sama,” Yuki’s mother says, “if you’d like him to accompany you, he can.”

Akito blinks. She looks back at Kureno, who has a faint frown on his face, and Akito can’t quite think of the reason for it. It’s out of her reach: she knows she’ll get there someday, understand all the things that are beyond her right now, but it’s frustrating that she can’t get there faster. 

“Do you want to come over?” Kureno asks Yuki, gently, and Yuki looks at Kureno, then at Akito, then at Ayame, then at his mother.

“Okay,” Yuki says, and slips his hand into Akito’s.

“We’ll all come for dinner!” Ayame says.

“You weren’t invited,” Hatori says.

“You’re invited,” Akito says, to Ayame, who positively _beams_. “You’re invited too, Hatori. Shigure. You’re always invited.”

Akito slips her other hand into Hatori’s, and Hatori looks down at her. 

“Well,” Hatori says, “it’ll be a good opportunity to make sure these two do their homework.”

“Oh,” Akito says, looking at Kureno. “I didn’t do mine. Will you help me?”

“Yes,” Kureno says, automatically. 

“Were you causing trouble for the maids again?” Shigure asks.

“Was I?” Akito asks.

Shigure laughs. “Well, if we’re there, it’s fine.”

“That’s not how that works at all,” Hatori says.

-

“Do you want to stay the night?” Akito asks Yuki, when he starts to yawn. Yuki considers her with wide eyes, and then nods.

“Can I stay the night--” Shigure asks, and is promptly hit over the head with a textbook by Hatori. “Ow.”

“My mother won’t mind,” Ayame says, with complete confidence. “So if it’s alright with everyone else, he’s welcome to do so.” 

“When it isn’t a school night, you can stay over,” Akito says, to Shigure. “Kureno says school is important, and you should wake up on time for it, but I hate getting up in the morning.”

“I’m spending the night this weekend,” Shigure informs Kureno. “I hate getting up in the morning, too. We can sleep in together.”

“Do you like mornings?” Akito asks Yuki, and Yuki shakes his head no. “Then you can stay and sleep in with us, too.”

“Ah, if we’re having a sleepover, then I, of course, will come as well!” Ayame says. 

“If you keep letting him invite himself, he’ll never stop coming over,” Hatori asides to Akito.

“That’s okay,” Akito says. “I like spending time with all of you.”

-

Yuki doesn’t go home.

“If you like him, please keep him,” Yuki’s mother tells Akito, and Akito accepts this at face value until three days later when she finally turns to Kureno.

“Why,” Akito says, “does everyone in the family treat us like we aren’t human?”

Kureno looks at Akito. Yuki looks at them both, and then steps over, clutching at Akito’s arm automatically. Akito is tactile with all of the juunishi -- touching them is comforting, and creates a feedback loop where everyone is happy -- and Yuki’s shyness has evolved into latching onto Akito. 

“What do you mean?” Kureno asks.

“Yuki is a person,” Akito says, “and if he belongs to anyone, he would belong to me, right?”

Kureno does not immediately reply to this, and Akito knows the reason: the older juunishi are careful not to overtly agree with the fact that they belong to Akito, which is fair because they’re all people, too, but they’re also _her_ people.

“But she just _gave_ him to me,” Akito says. “Even though he’s special.”

“I think him being special is why she wants you two to spend time together,” Kureno says. 

“But doesn’t she love him? Doesn’t she want to spend time with him?” Akito asks. Kureno looks at her for a long moment, and his smile has a sad quality to it that Akito can’t place. She knows that many of the parents of the juunishi reject their children, but Yuki’s mother hadn’t -- she’d even had a second child after her first was cursed. So why would she so freely give him up, if he was so special? 

Kureno doesn’t answer her, he just reaches down to ruffle her hair. 

Akito doesn’t know if she likes thatt, but she looks at Yuki. “I’ll love you,” Akito says. “I’ll always love you, even if she doesn’t.”

“Okay,” Yuki agrees, eyes wide.

-

“Now, it’s just not fair that Yuki-kun gets to live here, too,” Shigure grouses. Yuki is sitting next to Akito, nestled into her side with his head on her shoulder. He has a touch of a cold, or just his lungs acting up again -- Akito isn’t sure which one it is, specifically. Hatori’s dad gave him some sort of thick, foul-smelling syrup that’s seen him coughing less, but instead there’s a soft whistling noise when he exhales.

It’s actually more annoying than the coughing, but whenever Akito looks at him -- pale and glass-eyed, his hands fisted into Akito’s clothing -- she can’t even think of asking him to try and stop. 

“It would be nice if everyone could live here,” Akito says. She dreams about it, sometimes: a never-ending sort of banquet, with everyone crowded around the table for every meal and an endless amount of adjoining rooms to talk in, to play in. Akito’s world is small, but it’s filled with so many important people that it feels stuffed to the edges. 

“You could demand it,” Shigure says, that deceptively mild tone in his voice that makes Akito a little suspicious. Her suspicions are validated when Kureno heaves a soft sigh. 

“Shigure-niisan,” Kureno says, tiredly, and Akito senses this is a conversation they have had several times before without her being present. 

Akito is quiet for a long moment. She can feel Shigure’s eyes on her, and she tries to sort out the tangle of emotions in her chest. Kureno is endlessly patient with her, even when she gets so frustrated that she yells, but it always scares Yuki, and she’s starting to understand that even if Kureno is patient, not everyone else will be patient with her forever, no matter how special she is.

“I want you to stay forever,” Akito says, quietly. “I want all of you to stay forever. But… if you can… I want you to be able to tell me what it’s like to be raised in a family.”

“Ahh,” Shigure says, comprehension dawning across his features. He stands up, stepping over to Akito, and she blinks up at him, a wetness in her eyes betraying the feelings she wasn’t even aware she was feeling so strongly. “Is that it?”

“You have to do everything for me,” Akito says. “Because I can’t. You have to go to school, and have parents, and make friends-- but you have to still love me the most. You can’t love anyone else the most.”

“I’ll always love you the most,” Shigure says, and sits down next to her. Akito presses into him, and Yuki scoots across the floor, and Shigure closes his arms around both of them. Akito feels like this might be better than having a family. Maybe this _is_ family.

-

“Just call me Akito,” Akito says, when Yuki refers to her too formally for the hundredth time. She says it too sharply, and Yuki flinches like she hit him, and she has to fight down the urge to point down that she hadn’t raised her voice _that_ much.

“I mean,” Akito says, “you’re just Yuki to me. So it’s fine if I’m just Akito to you.”

“But,” Yuki says, “you’re more than ‘just Akito-sa-- Akito’.”

Akito looks away, because it’s a reminder that she’s more than she wants to be. The whispers are inside of her, a rush to the top, and she wonders if she’ll be what they want her to be. If she even can be. What does it mean, to be a god? What does it mean, when all she wants is to be loved by the people that she loves?

“I know,” Akito says. “I want to be just Akito, sometimes.”

Yuki rolls this over in his mind for a long moment. He’s like Shigure, in some ways, and he’s the _complete_ opposite of Ayame-- he thinks things through on his own time, at his own pace, and comes up with his own reactions and decisions. Akito thinks it’s admirable, but she also hates it; she wants to unwind Yuki and understand exactly who he is, know exactly what he thinks. 

“Okay,” Yuki agrees, finally. “I’ll do my best.”

-

Ritsu is overwhelming. Akito tries to meet all of the juunishi, but she feels like Ritsu might be the farthest from her -- he lives the furthest away, and his personality is the most different. She still tries to spend time with him when he visits, but it’s exhausting.

She watches Ritsu’s mother talk with the maids; she watches the other mothers discuss the children of the zodiac. Yuki isn’t there, but his mother is; Kagura is there, the only one who can remotely keep up with Ritsu.

Akito retreats. 

She sits down next to Isuzu, instead. 

“Hi,” Akito says. Isuzu looks at her with wide eyes. She’s older than Yuki, but smaller, and the way she’s dressed like a doll only serves to make her look even smaller. Her clothing is layered, and Akito looks at it like it’s a foreign language she’s never seen, a beautiful script that she can’t begin to understand. 

“Hi,” Isuzu says, very carefully. 

It isn’t the first time they’ve met. Akito has been insisting on it, on meeting them all as soon as she can, as soon as she’s allowed. It tests the scope of her powers, how much she can order everyone around, and they always relent, letting her see them before long. 

They cry. Akito wonders why, sometimes, when she doesn’t feel the urge to cry over them.

Akito starts to reach out, and then pauses. The juunishi are hers, but they’re people. They’re people. 

“Can I touch your hair?” Akito asks.

Isuzu looks like she’s considering it. Akito wonders if she can say no. “Yes,” she says, and Akito reaches out, drags the locks between her fingers. 

“I like your hair,” Akito says. It looks like her mother’s hair, in the photos she’s seen, but it’s soft and cool to the touch. It spills over her fingers in waves, and Akito twines it around her thumb, watching the way it reflects the light. 

“You could grow yours out,” Isuzu offers. Akito’s touch hesitates for just a moment, dragged down by all the things that everyone around her has hesitated to say.

“No,” Akito says. Isuzu looks at her, curious, but doesn’t pry, and lets Akito form her hair into messy braids until her parents take her away.

-

Akito isn’t the youngest cursed, but she isn’t the oldest, either, which means that she can sometimes speed through her schoolwork and then wait until everyone else gets off school. Yuki tends to perch next to her, watching her write -- sometimes she’ll explain little bits and pieces of what she’s working on, what she’s reading. Yuki’s growing up, little by little, and he’s starting to form real opinions, starting to interject when he thinks Akito is wrong.

Akito hopes that in time, his body will grow up too; they’ve taken to sleeping in the same room, because Akito kept waking up in the middle of the night worried that his breathing would be too labored. Now she can just wake up and roll over, put a hand on his side and feel the steady rise of his chest, the beat of his heart. 

“Do you want to go outside?” Akito asks, and Yuki shakes his head. Akito nods, and makes sure to gather enough things to keep him occupied -- she knows he’s going to sleep more than anything else, but just in case she gives him a small stack of books. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Soon” is relative, but Yuki just tells her goodbye and then lays down, exhausted and pale. Akito goes to see Kagura, but she isn’t home, which is weird. Nearly everyone else is still at school or too young to play with, so Akito wanders, instead. 

She finds herself in a place she shouldn’t be: at the Cat’s Room, the stone walls and metal bars looking intimidating from the outside. She takes a step forward, and someone catches her arm:

“Akito-san, you shouldn’t be out here,” the maid says. “It’s too cold. Let’s get you inside.” 

Akito winds herself around in the maid’s grip to look back at the room as they leave, but she doesn’t protest it. She isn’t sure she wants to stay, anyway.

-

The banquets are getting more lively. Akito doesn’t really remember the first one -- she knows it happened, but she was too young to remember it -- but the inner family has been whispering nonstop about the amount of children with the curse who have already been born. There are more than ever before, Akito has heard; there’s only a few missing now.

Akito thinks that they’ll be born, too, but she can’t explain how she knows. 

Instead, she sits at the banquet. Kagura is sitting behind Akito, gently braiding the short lengths of hair while Akito sits patiently and waits. 

“You should grow your hair out,” Kagura says. “It’d be really cute.”

“My father wanted it short,” Akito says. She doesn’t know if she wants to grow it out. She doesn’t know what she wants, lately, so she’s been avoiding thinking about it in favor of the things that are easier to want: contact with the juunishi, the casual affection they can all display with each other, the kind of bond that Akito feels is effortless and easy. 

“Oh,” Kagura says, apologetic, even though it’s an old wound to Akito, to talk about her father. “Sorry. It’s cute like this, too!” 

“Your hair is getting long,” Akito says, because she doesn’t want to think about her father right now, doesn’t want to think about how the bond of family seems to pale in comparison to the bond she has with the juunishi. 

“Mm! I’m going to grow it out more! I want to be really cute,” Kagura says. “That way, Kyo-kun--”

“Kyo-kun?” Akito echoes.

Kagura pauses. Her hands freeze in Akito’s hair, and Akito turns her head; the braids fall out, the silky strands falling back into place immediately.

“Is it okay to talk about?” Kagura asks. “I know… I know he’s the most cursed of all of us, but…”

Akito doesn’t reply for a long moment. “I haven’t met him,” Akito says, and wonders why that is. 

“I know,” Kagura says, and then smiles with all the might of a small child. “Turn back around, I wasn’t done!” 

Akito turns back around. “Tell me about him,” she says, and Kagura does.

-

Hatori is helping Kureno with homework while Shigure and Ayame do the precise opposite of that, and Akito is sitting at the table, trying to study and failing miserably. She thinks about them; she thinks about Ritsu and Kagura, about Yuki asleep after being awake all night coughing. About Rin and Hatsuharu and Momiji, about how many of the juunishi are gathered.

“Why is the cat the most hated?” Akito asks.

Ayame and Shigure go quiet, and Hatori pauses before he continues explaining math that involves letters to Kureno. 

“Everyone calls our bond a “curse”,” Akito says. It’s always struck her as strange, that everyone refers to it like it’s such a bad thing and then in the same breath tells her how special she is for being born with the same curse. It didn’t bother her when she was younger, but she’s starting to wonder. “And the cat is the most cursed.”

“Do you hate him?” Shigure asks, mildly.

Akito thinks about it. She’s learning with Shigure, that what he asks and what he means doesn’t always match up: the question feels easy until she thinks about it, unravels the whispers in her mind and the emotions in her chest.

“I don’t,” Akito says, “but I feel like I’m mad at him for something.” 

“If he’s offended god, then of course he would be the most cursed,” Ayame says, a flippant gesture of his hand. 

“He doesn’t done anything to me,” Akito says. “Not to _me_.”

There’s a quiet in the room again. Akito senses that this kind of thing is a subject she has to tread carefully on -- but that’s ridiculous, because she of all people shouldn’t have to be careful about something like this. It makes something like anxiety fill her chest, though, hard and aching, like she’s going against herself, like she’s fighting herself at every turn.

“It just doesn’t seem very fair,” Akito says, finally.

“Life usually isn’t. Que sera sera, you know?” Shigure says, which seems like a terrible answer, but Akito picks her book back up.

-

Akito’s life isn’t bad. She feels like it should be, sometimes, when the maids talk about how sad it is that she’s an orphan, how sad it is that she’s alone, how good it is that the juunishi are there to stay by her. Most of them treat Akito like she’s a fragile thing, like she could break at the slightest provocation. When Akito screams, they bow to her desires; when she yells, they placate her; when she cries, they offer comfort in the form of objects, in submission, in respect.

She doesn’t like any of it.

She thrives with Kureno, instead. He lets her poke up between his arms and watch the way he makes tamagoyaki in the morning -- he isn’t as good as the cooks, his is always a little messy and a little burnt, but Akito thinks they taste the best. He holds her by the hands and lifts her up until she says she feels a little like she’s flying. When she’s sad, he wipes her tears with his sleeve and tells her that it will be okay; when she’s angry, he puts a hand on hers and explains to her, in his calm and level voice, her options for the situation, how she could handle it if she wants to. Sometimes she still throws a tantrum, and he endures that, too; he holds her hands after the fact and tells her that it’s okay because it’s him, but she shouldn’t do it to anyone else. 

She learns what it’s like to be protected and to want to protect. She learns of a kind of love that goes outside the bond of the juunishi, outside the love of parents and child, outside of all the things she’s learned before in her life, and she starts to think that there’s an entire world outside of the Sohma estate that she’s never even dreamed of.

Then the curse breaks, and Akito can’t breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

Akito feels it. She feels it before she can even understand what’s happening: the sound of breaking fills her ears, and something is wrenched away from her, taken far beyond her reach. It feels like when her father died; it feels like the betrayal of knowing that she was never loved the way she thought she was.

“Kureno,” Akito says, and her hands shake. 

Kureno blinks, and it shatters the illusion that things might be fine: tears roll down his cheeks, and he looks surprised more than anything. He doesn’t even look sad.

“Kureno,” Akito says, again, more urgently, she takes a step forward but doesn’t trust her own balance. “Kureno, don’t-- don’t leave me, you can’t leave me--” She falls into him, and he closes his arms around her automatically. She can feel the motion like an old habit, but she can’t feel the warmth in it. She reaches out for anything to say, to do, but she doesn’t know what to do to fix this. She sinks down and Kureno goes with her, down onto the tatami floor of the living room they share, in the place where she’s always felt safest. There’s a scream bubbling up in her chest, and she can’t help the way it breaks her voice, drags it up and down with the panic.

“Kureno-- please,” she says, and doesn’t know what she’s pleading with. The bond, to come back; Kureno, to make it. A god doesn’t need to ask for things, but it was polite, wasn’t it? It was polite, and if it would keep Kureno near her, then-- “Don’t abandon me! Don’t look at me like you don’t know me!” 

“I won’t,” Kureno says, finally, and Akito buries her face into his school uniform, takes a shaking breath. There’s still no bond there. “I won’t leave you.” Akito can’t look at him. She can hear the difference in his voice, the way he talks to her -- he’s still quiet and gentle, but there’s a reservation there that wasn’t before.

“It’s different,” Akito says. “It’s already different, you’re already different, I don’t want it to change-- I want it back--”

“Akito,” Kureno says, gently. He leans back, and Akito stubbornly keeps her face in his shoulder until her puts a hand on her shoulder to push her away. He keeps his other hand on her back, keeping her in place. 

“We’re supposed to be together forever,” Akito says. 

“We will be,” Kureno says. “I won’t leave you.”

There’s still something rolling in Akito’s chest, something she can’t quite articulate -- she isn’t old enough; she isn’t smart enough. There was meant to be the bond forever, to keep them together, and all the things she wasn’t wouldn’t matter in the face of that, but what’s keeping Kureno by her side without it?

“I don’t want to be alone,” Akito says, softly.

“You’ll never be alone,” Kureno promises.

“But then why,” Akito says, “do I feel like you’re already gone?”

“I’m right here,” Kureno says, and Akito shakes her head, because she can feel that -- she can feel him under her fingertips, feel his warmth against her, feel everything about him that makes him Kureno, but she can’t _feel_ him anymore. When she reaches for the bond she only feels frayed string; when she tries to hold onto the idea of the bond she only finds empty air.

Kureno looks up, to the sky. “I’m right here,” Kureno repeats, and Akito closes her eyes against his tears.

-

Akito slides open Shigure’s door without announcing her presence otherwise, and he looks up from his bed, tilting his head.

“This is a surprise,” he says, and she closes the door. “I’d have cleaned up if I’d known you were coming!”

“Your mother let me in,” Akito says, because none of the parents of the juunishi would dare refuse her entrance, not when she was coming to see someone that was hers. Something that belonged to her… for now. 

“Is something wrong?” Shigure says. Akito steps over to him. She’s still not as tall as he is, even when she’s standing up and he’s sitting down, but she reaches out anyway.

“Do you still love me?” Akito asks.

“I told you that I’ll love you the most,” Shigure says, calmly. He recites it like it’s an irrefutable fact, like he’s saying his times tables or reciting a long-memorized poem. “What’s this about?” 

“Do you love,” Akito says, slowly, “me? Or do you love the god? Is it just your curse? Are you -- are you cursed to love me?”

“Ahh,” Shigure says, a slow exhale of understanding. He laces his fingers into Akito’s, and she blinks back tears. She’s terrified of this answer, terrified of seeing that same indifference Kureno had for a moment reflected back at her in the person that matters the most. (When did he become the one that mattered the most? Is it fair to everyone else, for it to be him that she’s the most afraid of losing? Is it fair to have a favorite?)

“Well,” Shigure says, “do you love me?”

It startles Akito. “What?” she says.

“We’ve established that I love you,” Shigure says, “but what about you?”

“I love you,” Akito says.

“Then do you love me, or do you love me because I’m the dog?” 

Akito stares at him for a long moment. “I…” she says, and trails off, because she can’t find the difference: she can’t find where Shigure ends and where the dog begins.

“What do you like about me?” Shigure says, leadingly. “Other than my manly good looks, of course.”

“That you like me,” Akito says, because that’s easier. “That you hold me. You’re nice to me, most of the time. You don’t ever talk to me like I’m a child, even though I’m younger.”

Shigure smiles, the expression tugging at his face. “Okay. None of those things have to do with the curse, right?”

“No,” Akito admits, carefully. “But I only know you because of the curse. We’re only around each other because of the curse.”

“Maybe that was true in the beginning,” Shigure says. “It’s true that even before you were born, we were all waiting for you. But then I got to meet you, and know you as Akito. I was able to see your smile, and how kind you are, and how you love everyone around you. So even if tomorrow, there was no curse, I would still love you for those reasons.”

Akito blinks hard again, but it just sends the tears spilling down her cheeks. Shigure reaches out, pulls her forward into a hug, and she opens her mouth to say something but just manages to sob, instead.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Shigure says. “Haa-san wouldn’t, either, and you and Yuki-chan are friends. I think it means more that even if there was no bond, they would all still choose to be beside you.”

“I thought I was special,” Akito says. She remembers her father saying it, and she wonders how much was a lie. 

“You’re special to all of us,” Shigure says. Akito wonders if that’s enough, to be special to Shigure. To be special to Kureno, to everyone else. 

“We don’t even know each other,” Akito says, softly. “Not really. You and I do.”

“Are you worried about everyone else?” Shigure asks. 

“I want,” Akito says, slowly, “to be as special to everyone else, as they are to me.” 

Shigure smiles. He leans in, presses a kiss to her forehead. “You’ll always be the most special to me. You might have to work at it for everyone else.”

Akito wants that to be enough. To be loved by Shigure; to be special to Shigure. It’s important to her, she thinks. It might be the most important. But not important enough that she can ignore the bonds with everyone else -- not enough that she can pretend she won’t cry if those break, too.

If Shigure is beside her when it breaks, if she sees that indifference in his eyes, she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

-

Shigure has barged in for breakfast, claiming that Kureno’s food tastes the best, and Kureno has allowed this, endlessly patient, even with the knowledge that singed tamagoyaki is no one’s favorite food. Yuki is upstairs, still asleep, and Akito intends to let him sleep in as long as possible if it means he’ll stop coughing so much.

“Your curse broke, didn’t it?” Shigure says, and Kureno turns, surprised.

Akito stops breathing for a moment, until Shigure’s hand finds it way down to her shoulder, squeezing it gently, reassuringly. 

“Yes,” Kureno says, finally. “I don’t know why.” 

“What did it feel like?” Shigure asks. Akito doesn’t want to hear this. She doesn’t know why it’s a conversation Shigure is having in front of her. She raises her hands like she can block out the world, but Shigure catches her wrist, letting their fingers entwine instead of letting her cover her ears. She buries her face against him, instead, inhales the comforting smell of him and tries to pretend that nothing is wrong despite the sharp sting in her eyes.. 

“I feel like I lost as much as I gained,” Kureno says, and Akito doesn’t know what that means.

“You didn’t lose me,” Akito says, softly, risking a look at him out of the corner of her eyes, and Kureno gives her a smile. He’s not quite the same, yet -- Akito doesn’t know if he’ll ever be quite the same as he was -- but it seems like his smile is going back, and his eyes don’t look so unfamiliar anymore.

“I don’t know if I can explain what it’s like,” Kureno says. “It feels a little like starting over.” 

Akito’s stomach rolls, and she thinks that she doesn’t want to be here for this conversation. 

Kureno steps over to Akito. He drops down, until they’re nearly level, until she has to look at him. He’s still all gentle features; he still feels like he belongs to her, even if there’s no curse. This is the Kureno that moved in with her when she was all alone, the Kureno that cooks for her and burns the eggs, the Kureno that tutors her in math and holds her when she has nightmares and strokes her head when she’s sick.

“Akito,” Kureno says, softly. “Who would you be if you weren’t god?”

“I,” Akito says, and the words get strangled in her throat.

“You’d still be special,” Kureno says, and Akito thinks her heart might stop beating.

“Right? You’re the heir to the family,” Shigure says. 

“Is it,” Akito says, slowly, “fake? The way we feel? Is it bad? Everyone says that our bond is the most important, but it broke-- it just _broke_ , and I couldn’t do anything about it--”

“I still care for you,” Kureno says. “Shigure-niisan would, too, even if his curse broke. You’ll still care for us.”

“I don’t understand,” Akito confesses, all at once. She pitches forward, lets herself fall onto Kureno and feels his arms wrap around her. She knows she should understand everything -- she’s the head of the family, she’s god, she’s so special and so important -- but she _doesn’t_. She doesn’t understand why she’s so special when it feels like there isn’t anything special about her. She doesn’t understand why everyone is cursed. She doesn’t understand anything and she hates how helpless it’s leaving her, how out of control everything feels like it is.

“That’s okay,” Shigure says.

“It isn’t!” Akito says. Her voice is raised and she knows she should keep it down, but she can’t. “I have to know! I have to be able to know all these things or I can’t do anything! If I’m special, why don’t I already know!”

“If God didn’t need friends,” Shigure says, “then why would he have had a banquet?”

“What does that have to do with anything--”

“It means,” Kureno says, “that even God must have needed others, to learn from, like you learn from all of us. It’s okay to make mistakes, even for a God.”

Akito squeezes her eyes shut, because she’s still afraid that they’ll leave. If there’s no curse, if she makes mistakes, they could just leave. 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Akito says. “Don’t tell anyone your curse is broken. I don’t want-- I don’t want them to-- I don’t want them to blame me! I can’t break it for anyone else! I can’t!”

“Okay,” Kureno agrees, simply.

Shigure is sitting next to her, a hand rubbing across her back in an easy, comforting movement. “I won’t tell,” he agrees, “until you decide you’re ready.”

Akito doesn’t think she’ll ever be ready.

-

The way Kureno looks at her has changed. The way he treats her has changed. Shigure is over more often, now, and sometimes the two of them talk quietly enough that Akito knows she isn’t meant to hear it. Sometimes she tries to make out the words.

Usually, she doesn’t want to know.

Kureno’s gaze is soft, but it isn’t reverent. He still wraps an arm around her when she buries against him at night; he still makes sure she eats and helps her with her homework. She doesn’t know, but she thinks that Kureno might be treating her like a real sibling. She doesn’t have any, and Kureno doesn’t have any, and Ayame and Yuki’s relationship is strange enough that she doesn’t want to judge anything based on that, but--

It isn’t bad, she doesn’t think.

She doesn’t mind it like she thought she would.

-

No one tells Akito. She finds out from gossip she overhears, and she pauses, turning towards the maids who stop talking almost immediately.

“Did Kyo’s mother die?” Akito asks Shigure, because this is the kind of conversation that’s upsetting to Kureno, so she doesn’t want to make him have it.

“She did,” Shigure says.

“Is he… okay?” Akito asks. 

“Are you worried about him? You haven’t spent any time with him, have you?” Shigure asks. 

“I haven’t,” Akito says. “Everyone keeps us apart. But I think I should change that.” 

Shigure is quiet for a long moment. He looks away, like he’s thinking something over, and then eventually, he smiles, reaching out for Akito, who goes to him; she falls into seiza next to him, lets him entwine his fingers into hers. 

“For a long time, the Sohma family has resisted change,” Shigure says. “And now you’ve come along to change all that, haven’t you?”

“Do you think I shouldn’t?” Akito asks. Shigure’s approval means more than Kureno’s, if she’s being honest -- which seems unfair, because Kureno has lived with her for so long now, Kureno has helped her so much. But Shigure is the one who doesn’t pull his words back; Shigure is the one who tells her if he thinks she’s being rude, or careless, or making a mistake.

Not that she always listens.

“I want you to change it,” Shigure says, and there’s an intensity there that frightens her a little. “I want you to tear it down and start again.” He reaches out, cups her chin in his hand. Akito feels overwhelmed by his words, but there’s a determination in her that’s been forming for years now and feels like it’s finally coming to a head. 

“I’m going to,” Akito promises. And then, carefully, she ventures: “Will you help?” 

“Of course,” Shigure says, and he looks all too happy at the thought.

-

“I want to visit Kyo,” Akito says. Yuki blinks up from his food, but Kureno accepts this: he’s started to get used to Akito’s breakfast declarations, and this one seems moderately more normal than some of the things she’s said before.

“They won’t let him into the main house,” Kureno says, slowly. 

“Then I’ll go to him,” Akito says, almost impatiently. She’s certain she could overrule whatever it is that says that the cat isn’t allowed in the main house, but she knows that Kureno is the one who has been handling the brunt of the family affairs, and she feels bad that she’s too young to do more. She’ll leave her battles for when she’s old enough to fight them herself.

Or she’ll make Shigure do that. She thinks he’d like that kind of thing, actually.

“I’ll contact his guardian,” Kureno says. 

“Why do you want to talk to him?” Yuki asks.

“Because I want to know,” Akito says, “if he really deserves what’s happened to him.”

“He’s the cat,” Yuki says.

“Yes,” Akito says, “but why?”

Yuki doesn’t have an answer for that, not anymore than Akito herself does, so he just offers Akito a nod.

“Do you hate him?” Akito asks. She looks at Yuki, and then at Kureno. 

“I… don’t,” Yuki says, very slowly. “But I know he’s the most cursed of all of us. I know that everyone looks down on him.”

“Do you think it isn’t fair?” Kureno asks.

Yuki considers it. He looks at Akito; he looks at Kureno; he looks down at his own hands. “Being the rat is hard,” he says, quietly, like it’s a secret -- and it is, in a way, because the admittance makes Akito’s heart ache, makes her want to scream at Yuki to take it back, because being by her side should never be hard -- “but if Akito hated me, too, it would be unbearable.”

“I could never hate you,” Akito blurts, because she wants to ease it away: the idea that it’s hard, the idea that they’re suffering. She doesn’t want to think that Kureno has it so much better. She doesn’t want to think about how hard she’s clinging to everyone else, to this curse they didn’t ask for. 

“I don’t hate him, either,” Yuki says, more confidently than before.

-

Hatori is the one that winds up taking her to see Kyo. She’s surprised, but she doesn’t mind; Hatori is as endlessly patient with her as Kureno, and privately Akito thinks Hatori might be the smartest person she knows (even if it’s only because Shigure won’t take anything seriously).

“We’re here,” Hatori says. Akito steps into the dojo with wide eyes, because she’s never seen anything quite like it before and she’s not entirely sure how she should be reacting. 

“Thank you for coming,” Kazuma says, and bows, and Akito doesn’t bow back because she’s busy staring up at the ceiling. 

Kazuma makes small talk with Hatori, which Akito listens to half-heartedly, holding onto Hatori’s hand as she turns to look around as they walk. They eventually get to the living room, where Kyo is sitting. He looks up when he sees Akito, and then hardens; he looks back down again, his fists balled up on his lap.

Akito steps forward. She drops Hatori’s hand, and then she steps forward again. There’s something like disgust coiling up inside of her, and she doesn’t know _why_. Kyo hasn’t done anything wrong. She hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Kyo,” Akito says. She steps around to him instead of across from him, drops down next to him. He looks at her, and there are tears in his eyes -- she’s not sure if it’s because it’s the first time they’ve really met or not. 

“W-- what?” Kyo responds, looking uncertain. Akito reaches out, and Kyo shuts his eyes as tightly as they’ll go, like he’s expecting to be hit. Akito doesn’t hit him, she just lets her hand fall onto his head, stroke down his hair. 

“Are you,” Akito asks, softly, “happy?”

“What?” Kyo asks. He opens his eyes again.

“I should have seen you sooner,” Akito says. 

“I’m just the cat,” Kyo says, almost defensively. “Why would you want to see me?”

Akito doesn’t want to see him, actually. She doesn’t want to see him with all of her being, but that isn’t true. That’s the curse, the demand in her veins. She tries to partition it: to separate god and Akito within herself, but she can’t manage it, so she just swallows it down, repeats to herself that Kyo hasn’t done anything.

None of them deserve this, do they? 

“Kagura likes you,” Akito says, and Kyo looks startled. “And I like Kagura. So I like you, too.”

Akito doesn’t spend as much time with Kagura as she’d like, which is mostly because Kagura’s mom actually seems to have a degree of affection for her daughter that’s conspicuously absent in all the other families. Not that Shigure’s mother doesn’t love him, or that Hatori’s parents don’t care, but it’s more reserved; they’re all free to do what they want, especially as it pertains to Akito.

Kagura’s mother had once caught them eating snacks and actively scolded Akito for it, on the other hand. 

“But I’m the cat,” Kyo says. “Everyone hates me. Especially you.”

“You’re Kyo, too, aren’t you?” Akito says. “Kyo, who Kagura always talks about. She says you’re good at martial arts.” And then, very matter of factly, Akito informs him: “Cats can’t do martial arts, so that’s just a fact about Kyo.”

Kyo stares at her like he doesn’t understand a word that she’s saying, and she frowns. There’s still that dislike within her, and she can feel it flooding through her at the slightest provocation -- it feels like she could fall into anger with Kyo more easily than anyone else, and she already struggles with frustration on a normal basis.

“I’m saying,” Akito says, “that I want to be friends. Whatever the cat did, you didn’t do.”

“We’re the same thing,” Kyo says, but his eyes are wide.

“You’re part of each other,” Akito says. “It doesn’t mean you’re the same.”

Kyo looks at her for a long moment, and then looks away; there’s a flush across his cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, and then, finally, he holds a hand out. “We,” he says, “...can be friends, I guess.”

Akito looks at the hand, and then takes it in hers; she feels anger rocket through her hard enough that she squeezes a little too tightly, but she smiles even brighter to make up for it.

“I’m glad,” Akito says, and feels the anger recede.

-

“I met Kyo,” Akito tells Kagura. Kagura’s entire demeanor changes: she slams her hands down on the small pile of rocks she’d been carefully balancing, sending them scattering across the ground.

“Kyo-kun? You met Kyo-kun? He’s wonderful, right?” Kagura says. 

Akito is a little overwhelmed. “I like him,” Akito says, finally.

“You like him?” Kagura repeats, slowly. “Akki, even if it’s you, I won’t let you have him!”

“I-- what?” Akito feels like this conversation is getting away from her. “He’s already mine! You’re already mine!”

“No! Not like that,” Kagura says. She leans forward, pitching into Akito’s face, and there’s a strange, threatening energy around her that Akito has no idea how to reconcile with the girl who once cried for three solid minutes over a sad commercial. “You can’t like him like him!”

“Like him like him?” Akito repeats.

“I love him! I _love_ Kyo-kun!” Kagura says. “I’m going to marry him! I’m learning martials arts with him and I love him and one day we’ll have a home together and--”

“Oh,” Akito says, a little relieved that that was all the misunderstanding was. “Like him like him.” She nods, understanding. “I don’t want to marry him. I love him like I love you, Kagura.”

Kagura looks a little suspicious, but relents, allowing this. “You definitely can’t marry him! Even if you’re God, I’m claiming him!”

“I’m not going to!” Akito says, and her voice raises a little with the frustration. Kagura backs away, a little startled, and Akito frowns. There’s that hot heat in her veins whenever her temper gets the better of her, and the flush of embarrassment afterwards, so Akito looks away. “I’m going to marry Shigure.”

“But he’s so old!”

“He isn’t old!!” Akito yells, but this time Kagura doesn’t flinch away from it. Akito sighs, deeply aggrieved by the prospect of anyone considering Shigure old (just because he was a teenager!), and changes the subject. “You’re learning martial arts with him?”

Kagura lights back up. It seems like Kyo is one of her favorite subjects, and, honestly, Akito doesn’t mind listening.

-

Hatori is plying her with crepes, which makes Akito a little suspicious, because getting treats from Hatori does not usually happen without explanation. At the same time, she isn’t going to turn down spending time with him -- he’s been bogged down with responsibilities and homework, and Akito has been forcing herself not to bother him too much when he looks so exhausted all the time.

(She’s been bothering Ayame, instead, because Kureno had suggested that he was part of the reason Hatori looked so exhausted, but it meant that Ayame spent a solid, agonizing three hours dressing her up and honestly, _she_ felt exhausted after that.)

“You know about Kyo’s true form?” Hatori says, finally, when she’s mostly finished her crepe.

Akito knows. It’s part of the evidence that Kyo has sinned against her, or against the juunishi, or… something like that. Her mind skips over the explanations trying to figure out which one feels right, but there’s only the vague anxiety in her stomach, the sound of pieces not fitting together. Not even the god within her will tell her anything.

“Yes,” Akito says. “I haven’t seen it. Is it ugly?”

“I haven’t seen it,” Hatori says. 

Akito mulls over it for a moment. “Do I need to see it?” she asks.

“It’s part of him,” Hatori says. “It’s part of his curse.”

“I know,” Akito says, slowly. She doesn’t want to sound too much like a child about this. “It isn’t that I don’t care, but… it’s hard, to see him as Kyo. I don’t want to make it harder.”

“You’re breaking tradition,” Hatori says, “so the family has been concerned that something has happened -- to make you accept him.”

“Have the juunishi been concerned?” Akito asks, a little more acidically than she means to.

“No,” Hatori says.

“Then I don’t care,” Akito says. She doesn’t hate the maids or anything -- they’re loyal, and they’re nice enough -- but they’re mean when they want to be, gossip following the cursed around. There’s factions that Akito can see before her, and no one dares to stand up to her on anything, which only makes getting the truth out of them even harder. “So what if I break tradition? It’ll break tradition to have a girl as the head of the family, but no one cares about that. It’s breaking tradition to have this many of us alive at the same time, but no one cares about that! If everything about me is breaking tradition, then why would I even have been born?”

Akito gets to her feet. The knowledge that the curse is breaking is in the forefront of her mind, and she aches to tell Hatori. It’s hard to keep a secret from him, but she can’t tell him yet. It’s still too big to her, a vast open space of knowledge that she can’t cross yet.

“Maybe we _should_ break tradition! Maybe Kyo’s true form isn’t true at all, and it’s just--” Akito stops, because her stomach lurches with the wrongness of it. She doesn’t know what Kyo’s true form looks like, but there’s images in her mind, demanding her attention; there’s a swirl of darkness inside of her that makes her feel like she’s going to throw up. 

She presses her palms into her eyes, hard enough that it sends stars into her vision. It doesn’t make any sense that Kureno’s curse would break instead of Kyo’s. Kureno had never minded being cursed. Kureno had been able to fly -- to soar through the air, to touch the clouds. Kyo’s life was terrible. Why wasn’t his curse the one breaking? Why, if everything was falling apart, was it still so unfair? Why did it still make Akito’s heart hurt, to imagine everything breaking? 

“It’s not fair,” she says, and Hatori’s arms slip around her. “It’s not fair.”

Hatori leans down, wraps his arms around her and picks her up, and she slips her arms around him as tightly as she can. 

“Hatori,” she says, “don’t blame me.”

“None of this is your fault,” Hatori says, soothingly, and Akito feels sick with the secret of it.

“I love you,” Akito says. 

“I know,” Hatori says, and carries her home.

-

The maids are adamant that Kyo isn’t allowed into the main house up until Akito threatens to go visit him at the dojo all the time, and then the maids relent. Akito can hear their whispers behind her, and she knows they think she’s insane -- she hears how blessed Kyo must be to be tolerated by her, how he must be thankful.

“Don’t follow us around!” Akito says, when Kyo gets there, looking at the maids. “Kureno can keep an eye on us!”

She doesn’t want them to say something mean to Kyo. Kyo looks wide-eyed at the maids, and then Akito reaches forward, grabbing his hand and dragging him away. Kyo follows after her, and she drags him into the house and slams the door as hard as she can, given that it’s as traditional as the rest of the house. 

Kureno looks up from the table, surprised; Yuki looks up, considerably less surprised. Kyo bristles, and Akito can feel it where she’s still holding Kyo’s hand, but she just tugs him over.

“You didn’t say he’d be here!” Kyo says, and Akito frowns. It takes her a second of looking between Kureno and Yuki before she gets it. 

“...you mean Yuki?” 

Yuki reaches out, grabs Akito’s other sleeve and has a look that’s a little worried and a little… annoyed? 

“I-- I don’t want to spend time with that rat!” Kyo says.

“I don’t want to spend time with you, either,” Yuki says, which is just about the meanest thing Akito has heard him say in her entire life, and she has no idea how to react to it.

“Is this,” she says, finally, “you two talking, or is it the animals?” She’s been making a point to differentiate a little more often, and it’s been spreading: they’ve all started to blame parts of themselves on their animals. Whether or not any of it is true remains to be seen, because Akito is pretty sure that dogs aren’t as lazy as Shigure claims, but she doesn’t technically know enough about normal dogs to disagree. 

“It’s the same thing,” Kyo mumbles.

“It’s not,” Akito says. “If it’s that the two of you don’t like each other, then that’s dumb, but I’ll respect it, but if it’s just that the cat and the rat don’t get along, then I don’t accept it at all!”

Yuki doesn’t let go of her sleeve, but he does look away, frowning faintly. Kyo looks away, sullen, a flush on his cheeks, and Akito is suddenly very vividly aware that this must be how Kureno and Hatori feel everytime she has a tantrum.

That’s unbearable. She doesn’t like that at all.

“He hates me,” Yuki says, quietly.

Akito considers Yuki, and then looks at Kyo. “Do you?”

“...I guess,” Kyo says, which isn’t very convincing at all, but Akito doesn’t know enough to navigate this kind of a landmine. Her mother’s death isn’t on her radar, and she thinks her life has been less traumatizing overall than Kyo’s, which is great for her but not for Kyo.

“You’re both still friends with me,” Akito says, “right?”

“Yes,” Yuki says, instantly. 

“Yeah,” Kyo says, but it’s much more reluctant. 

“You won’t stop being my friend just because I’m friends with both of you, right?”

“Of course not,” Yuki says.

“Who’d do a stupid thing like that?” Kyo says.

“Then it’s fine,” Akito says, feeling a little more tension leave her. “You don’t have to be friends with each other. Just… don’t fight, I guess.”

“I’d win in a fight,” Kyo says.

“What,” Yuki says.

“I’m really good at martial arts! Shishou is teaching me!”

“Shishou?” Akito echoes. Kureno mouths ‘Kazuma’ at her, and she absorbs this, nodding faintly. 

“I could be good at martial arts,” Yuki says, and Akito can’t help but find this side of Yuki _absolutely adorable_.

She will never tell him this, of course. He would never forgive her.

-

Shigure spends the night, sometimes. It’s always on Akito’s request: there’s a specific kind of comfort that she finds in his arms specifically, and it’s different, to curl up with him instead of Kureno. The maids frown on it, of course, and Kureno glances in whenever he passes by, but there are times when the storm in Akito’s chest grows too much for her to handle alone.

Akito curls up on Shigure’s lap, and he reads to her in a gentle, easy voice, an arm around her whenever he isn’t turning the page. The story isn’t anything memorable -- it’s a little above Akito’s level, actually, but she doesn’t want to admit it.

“Are you falling asleep?” Shigure asks.

“A little,” Akito says. She shifts slightly to rouse herself, but only gets more comfortable. Shigure sets the book down to wrap an arm more firmly around Akito, and she tucks herself into his embrace. “I don’t think I understand the story.”

“Hmm,” Shigure hums, an easy consideration that makes her less self-conscious. Anything she doesn’t understand is a problem for him to solve; he’s never once made fun of her for it. He’ll make fun of everything else, but not the things she fails to understand. “What’s confusing?”

“Is being in love,” Akito says, slowly, “hard, for other people?” It’s never been hard for her. To love Kyo, maybe -- what she feels for him is something with the echoes of love, twisted and corrupted over the centuries of the curse being passed down -- but to love everyone else? 

“For many people, love is conditional,” Shigure says. “It can vanish at any time.”

“I don’t understand that,” Akito says. She can’t understand it. Even with Kyo, with that rotten desire she has to possess him and push him away simultaneously, with that feeling she has where she understands the point of the cat’s room, she doesn’t think she could ever _stop_. She’d never be able to stop loving Shigure, or Kureno. “If it wasn’t for the curse, would you -- would everyone stop loving me if I did something wrong?”

“I wouldn’t. For the others, it depends on how wrong it was,” Shigure says, instead of placating her fears like Kureno would. Akito frowns, because it’s hard for her to imagine any of the juunishi turning against her for anything -- she could probably stab one of them and they’d still, at least, put up with her. But she shifts it around in her mind: if they weren’t cursed, they wouldn’t have an obligation. If they were cursed, it would be just like the maids around the estate, or Kagura’s mom, or Kazuma. None of those people hate Akito, but she doesn’t think any of them love her, either. 

“How do you,” Akito says, very slowly, “deserve love? How do you make people love you?” 

Shigure glances away. His gaze slips to the wall, like it does whenever he’s being particularly shifty, not telling Akito the things that are in his mind, not letting her unwrap the mysteries he keeps inside himself. 

“I don’t know if anyone _deserves_ love,” Shigure says, and Akito flinches because it falls contrary to everything so many people have told her. That she deserves love; that she _must_ be loved; that love is obedience and reverence. “People fall in love for all sorts of reasons. Someone could be cute, or smart, or funny, or kind. All the reasons you love the people around you can be reasons for you to be loved.”

Akito absorbs this carefully. She thinks of Kureno, no longer bound by the curse. Kureno, who still lets her climb into his futon when she has nightmares, who makes sure she eats her food, who patiently helps her with her schoolwork and ties her obi whenever she wants to dress up. 

“I want everyone to love me,” Akito says. 

“Then keep doing what you’re doing,” Shigure says, and when he looks back at Akito, there’s a gentle look on his face. It softens him out, makes Akito feel like she may not understand everything about him but that it doesn’t matter. 

“Will you tell me,” Akito says, “if I do something wrong? Something that would make you -- or the juunishi -- not love me?”

“Always,” Shigure says. He leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead, and Akito fights down the wild urge to cry. There’s no reason to cry, but it breaks something inside of her, to imagine a love that could be taken away so freely, to imagine relationships built on such precarious ground. 

“I love you,” Akito says, instead. “I love you, so keep loving me back, forever.”

“I will,” Shigure says.

-

“How come you dress like a boy?” Kyo asks, apropos of little else. Akito catches the ball when he throws it, and then blinks, lowering her arm. Yuki puffs his cheeks out until Akito tosses it back over to him, and the game continues.

“My mother wanted me to be a boy,” Akito says. The older she gets, the more she thinks that statement isn’t the real truth of it -- the maids are all too happy to keep her in boy’s clothing, and Akito, truthfully, doesn’t care too much when it had meant so much to her father -- but it’s the best explanation she has.

“But you’re not a boy,” Kyo says. “Right?”

“I’m a girl,” Akito says. “Is it weird?”

“I mean,” Kyo says, a little uncertainly. He catches the ball from Yuki and then changes things up: throws it back at Yuki, sends the whole circle the other way. “I don’t really… Kagura-neechan always wears dresses.” 

Kagura, who was not allowed to join them today because she apparently had homework. Akito also has homework, and is pointedly not doing it until Kureno helps her with it. 

“Ritsu wears dresses,” Akito says. “And he’s a boy.” She catches the ball when Yuki throws it, bounces it once, then throws it back to Kyo, who catches it and looks at it for a long moment.

“I guess you don’t have to care about things like that when you’re god,” Kyo says, and there’s a little bitterness in his tone. Akito hesitates, because it’s a minefield she doesn’t know how to navigate.

“Kyo,” Yuki says, instead. He’s dropped the suffix because Akito has, and Kyo always turns a little red when Yuki addresses him, but he hasn’t actually complained about it yet. “Show me how to punch again.”

“Again?” Kyo says, but the distraction worked: he lowers the ball and steps over. “You should get shishou to teach you, I’m not really that good at it…” 

But he shows Yuki how to throw a punch, and how to block; he shows Akito, too, and by the time Kagura finally shows up, out of breath and right before dinner, Kyo is in the process of walking them through how to balance their bodies when they’re moving, which is a skill Akito is absolutely terrible at.

“Kyo-kun, you’re such a good teacher!” Kagura says, and drapes over him. Her growth spurt is hitting earlier than his, and he sags under the weight, looking irritated at the attention.

“I’m just tellin’ them what shishou told me!” Kyo says.

“I think you’re a good teacher, too,” Yuki says.

Kyo stares at Yuki, turning steadily more pink around the ears. “I don’t want to hear that from you!” Kyo says, too loudly to be true, but he looks pleased.

-

Kyo gets to spend the night, which is rare: Kazuma stays, too, but in an adjoining building rather than in Akito’s home proper. They drag their futons into the living room to crowd around the television, and Kureno turns a blind eye to the amount of snacks they eat when they stay up past their bedtime.

When it’s time to go to sleep, they push their futons together and spread blankets out over all three of them. Akito sleeps between Kureno and Yuki, and Kyo hugs the outer edge, eyes bright even in the darkness as he looks at Yuki and Akito. 

“I really,” Kyo says, quietly, “wanted to hate you both.”

Akito looks at him in the dark, and when she can’t see him well, reaches out with the bond. She’s used to the roil of uncertainty, these days, the loud whispering that he shouldn’t be there, that he shouldn’t be free, that he was the betrayer. She shoves the voices down and replaces it with her own: she loves Kyo, Kyo has done nothing wrong, she’ll protect Kyo as much as she’ll protect everyone else. 

“Why?” Yuki asks. Akito reaches out, because she knows the answer already; she twines her fingers into Yuki’s.

“I think,” Kyo says, very slowly, “I thought you would hate me, too. So it’d be easier if I hated you first. If I hated you, then it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t like me, or if you were better than me at things.”

“You know I’m not better at things on purpose,” Yuki says, “right?”

“I know that _now_ ,” Kyo says. “But everyone always acted like you were -- like you were the best! You were the closest to Akito! So I thought-- if one day, I won’t get to see you anymore--”

“What?” Yuki says, and Akito feels Kureno tense when Kyo cuts off abruptly. 

“You’ll always get to see Yuki,” Akito says, very carefully, because she understands what Kyo is talking about. Yuki looks at Akito, then at Kyo; he reaches out with his other hand and takes Kyo’s hand in his. “You’ll always be with us.”

Kyo doesn’t respond. Akito reaches out, takes Kyo’s hand in hers until the three of them are linked. It’s an awkward position, and she thinks her arm is going to go numb if she isn’t careful, but it feels worth it.

“I want you to love me,” Akito says, softly. “I want to be loved. I want to love. Even you, Kyo.”

Kyo doesn’t reply to that, either, but he squeezes Akito’s hand hard enough that it hurts. She doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll love you both,” Yuki says.

Akito pretends she doesn’t hear it when Kyo buries his face into his pillow, shoulders shaking. She doesn’t let go of his hand.

-

“We have everyone,” Akito says. “Well, except you.”

Kureno glances at her, and Akito frowns.

“That’s not what I meant,” Akito says. She’s trying to get better about how she says things, after she made Momiji cry on complete accident (his hair _had_ looked stupid, though). “I mean that you aren’t cursed anymore, but everyone else is here.”

She counts the months in between Hiro’s birth and Kureno’s curse, and no matter how she does it she can’t help but think that it must have been waiting all this time. That the bird inside of him was ready, to be reborn, to be free. 

“It’s never happened before,” Kureno says. 

Akito takes a moment; tries to organize her thoughts. “I’m… glad,” she says, finally. “I want everyone to choose to stay with me, instead of having to.” 

It feels like a betrayal to say, like she’s lying to herself. She can’t think of the curse breaking for anyone else without feeling like her chest is on fire, but she can think about Kureno. Kureno, who has already been freed and who has stayed with her regardless; Kureno who won’t leave no matter what. 

“Do you want to tell them?” Kureno asks.

Akito hesitates. She thinks people have been starting to realize -- there’s no whispering from the spirits when Kureno is present; there’s no familiarity in his touch -- but no one has questioned it. No one has thought the unthinkable, or if they have, they haven’t brought it up to her.

Akito closes her eyes. She can feel the bonds, if she tries. Twelve of them and one broken at the end, hovering in the darkness like a hand that no one has reached out for. 

They feel frail. 

“Not yet,” Akito says, because if she touches them and thinks about breaking, her stomach is sick. “I want to be sure. I don’t want -- I don’t want them to hate you.”

“Akito,” Kureno says. “That’s something that I can bear.”

“No,” Akito says. “I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to have to.”

Kureno isn’t hers anymore, not in the way that he was once, but she decided years ago that she would protect him -- even if the curse was broken, even if he was older, even if she was small and powerless. She’d do what she could. Her options are still limited now, but she can do this much, she thinks, even if the secret feels like fire in her throat.

-

Kureno is the one who finds out all the Sohma affairs, but Shigure and Ayame are the ones who find out the _gossip_ , so it goes through the grapevine until it gets to Akito, who frowns, picking blades of grass up and rolling them between her fingers until they come away green.

“They’re erasing her memory?” Akito says.

“They think if she forgets having a child, she’ll get better,” Shigure says. He’s the one laying down today, his head resting on Akito’s lap, and she threads some of the grass through his hair as she thinks it over.

“That’s stupid,” Akito says, finally. “It’s stupid to forget something just because you’re mad about it. I don’t get to forget things just because I don’t like them. We’re the ones that are cursed, anyway. Why do other people get to forget that?”

Akito has seen it over and over, in the families of everyone cursed: people die, people cast away their children. Yuki was given to her like a sacrifice, which is fine, because she’s not giving him back, but the entire thing is so much stranger when she see what parents should _actually_ be like. 

She’d kind of thought television had just made up the whole concept, up until Kagura’s mom. 

“You’re mad at her,” Shigure observes.

“I’m mad at a lot of people,” Akito says, and it’s true: the whispering in her mind is always there, always present. She’s gotten better about ignoring it, about stopping herself before she lashes out. She likes to spend time with Shigure whenever she’s overwhelmed, because it doesn’t seem to hurt him the same when she says regrettable things. He’ll catch her before she can hurt him.

Kureno and Yuki just stand there and take it, which makes her feel worse in the end.

“There isn’t anything I can do, is there?” Akito says. She’s still young. She feels useless. 

Shigure reaches up. He touches her cheek, and Akito looks down at him; it doesn’t make her feel any less angry, but the familiar affection bubbles up inside of her, too. “It isn’t your job to fix everything,” Shigure says. 

“But,” Akito says, and then her throat closes on the words she isn’t meant to think. If she can’t save them, will they still love her? Thinking of the curse breaking still sends a thread of fear into her heart, no matter what; she’s tried to reassure herself, but she still feels that abandonment as acutely as the day it happened. What if it happens and everyone moves on? What if she can’t tie them to her securely enough, and they all leave? 

“Focus on the things you can do,” Shigure says, “instead of the things you can’t.”

“I don’t know the difference,” Akito says, and it feels like a confession.

“Have you tried not doing anything at all?” Shigure offers, and Akito rolls her eyes, because being flippant to change the conversation is just par for the course with Shigure. 

“Don’t act like you don’t do things all the time,” Akito says. 

“Well, only when no one is looking,” Shigure says. “I can’t let anyone get to thinking I’m actually useful.”

“You’re very useful to me,” Akito says. “So continue doing that.”

“Only for you,” Shigure says, and Akito smiles.

-

There’s nothing she can do about Momiji’s mother. She tries her best to think of a solution, deliberates over it at breakfast, when she should be doing schoolwork, before she falls asleep at night.

She can’t figure anything out. She nearly pulls her hair out trying, and finally she takes a bath as hot as she can stand, lowers herself until she’s underwater, and screams out a long trail of bubbles that rise to the surface and make no sound. 

It helps. A little. 

“Do you want to see him?” Kureno asks her, when she finally comes out of the bathroom, her hair mostly-dry and her mouth still turned into a frown.

“Yes,” Akito says. “That’s really all I can do, isn’t it?”

Kureno smiles and ruffles her hair.

-

Momiji is in a house by himself. Not by himself-himself, because at this point the Sohma family is used to the juunishi being on their own to some degree, but he’s alone in that his family is gone, so Akito doesn’t even bother knocking before she walks in.

“Momiji?” 

Momiji is still a child. He’s small and delicate, and when he pokes his head around the door he mumbles something in German that Akito cannot begin to translate. 

“Hi,” he says, finally, stepping over to her. His eyes are red, and his nails are bitten back until the skin is pink around the edges. 

“Hi,” Akito echoes, faintly. Looking at him is like looking at Yuki, at Kyo. She wonders if it’s what the older juunishi saw when they looked at her -- that bone deep loneliness, that confusion. An child abandoned because of a situation out of their control. 

Akito holds her hand out, and Momiji moves forward to take it. 

“I came to check on you,” Akito says, and Momiji offers her a brilliant smile. 

“Thank you,” he says.

Akito wonders how he can smile so brightly when she can only imagine how much it must hurt. She thinks she might have it easier -- her parents died before they could reject her; her mother unable to carry out any of the things she’d told the maids, any of the things that she might have wanted to do. Even the legacy is drifting into nothingness, being replaced by Akito, by the way she fills the house with people and laughter, by the way she insists on finding out the reasons for every tradition and whether or not it’s a tradition she should bother with. 

“Are you,” Akito says, very carefully, “lonely?”

Momiji leans back. There’s a flash of that hurt across his face, and when he blinks it’s all long lashes. Akito never played with dolls, but she thinks he must look like one. 

“I’m,” Momiji says. “I’m doing okay! If Mama is getting better--”

“I don’t care about her,” Akito says, and Momiji blinks too hard. “I’m sure she’s getting better. But I don’t care about her, I care about you.” Akito steps forward, and Momiji looks up at her. Akito never feels tall until she’s with the younger juunishi; it feels like an eternity ago that she was this small, even though she knows it was only a few years. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Momiji looks at Akito for a long moment, and Akito can see the way his eyes get glassier and glassier until he cracks, letting the tears spill. He flings himself into Akito’s arms, and she stumbles backwards a step, caught off guard; she’s used to the slow, lazy affection of Hatori and Shigure and Kureno, and not this frantic, desperate bid for comfort, for peace.

“It’s lonely!” Momiji says. “It’s really lonely! I want Mama to get better, but I want her to come back and love me! I want Papa to come back! I want to be with both of them!”

Akito wraps her arms around him. It’s slow, at first, and then it gets quicker as she hugs him to her, squeezes him like she can singlehandedly make up for that kind of rejection. 

She can’t. She knows that. Nothing can make up for it. Nothing will make up for the loss of her own parents -- for the possibility of what they could have been. Akito doesn’t think they’d have been a happy family, exactly, but she wants to believe they could have been, that the future could have been bright and filled with happiness. In her mind, her mother has Kagura’s mother’s voice and smells like rice wine and vanilla; in her mind, her parents hold her between them when she’s scared; in her mind, her mother dresses her in skirts and dresses and tells her that she’s beautiful. 

“I know,” Akito says, because there’s nothing else she can say. She can’t promise him it will get better when it won’t. She can’t tell him that she’ll love him forever when he already knows. She can’t do anything about this, so she just hugs him to her, lets him cry against her. “I’m here,” she says. 

Momiji cries himself out. He’s still young, and Akito doubts he’s been sleeping well, so when he finally lets go, she holds his hand and takes him to blow his nose and drink some water. 

“Thank you for coming to see me,” Momiji says, and Akito smiles at him.

“I’ll come as often as you want,” Akito says. 

“Then you’d never leave,” Momiji says, too seriously, and Akito pauses.

Really, what’s one _more_ tradition to break when she’s been making an effort to break so many of them already?

“Do you want,” Akito says, without asking anyone else if it’s okay, because she realizes she doesn’t care in the slightest about anyone who would tell her “no” when Momiji was crying so hard he’d hiccuped, “to stay with me?”

-

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Shigure says, and Akito kicks him in the back of the knee. “--Ow.”

“Be nice,” she hisses. “Or I won’t let you spend the night.”

Shigure sighs, overdramatic and empathic, like his life is simply over because he isn’t being allowed to move in. They’ve converted one of the spare rooms into a bedroom for Momiji, and they’ve quickly realized that they’ll need to branch out from traditional furniture to hold the sheer amount of clothing he has, given that his collection is evergrowing. (Ayame had seemed over the moon to have such a willing model and had promised to design new outfits entirely for Momiji, which had cheered him up)

“He’s sad,” Akito says. “And I don’t want him to be sad.”

“I’m sad,” Shigure says, but his voice is quiet, an easy undercurrent to the conversation. Akito rolls her eyes.

“You’ll be sadder if you don’t shut up,” she says, and Shigure laughs behind his hand. 

“So mean, Akito-san,” he says, and she jabs in him in the side extra hard for calling her -san. “Ow.”

“The maids already tried to make him feel bad because he’s a boy,” Akito says. “But I said he was better at being a girl than I am.”

“What did they say to that?” Shigure asks.

“Nothing,” Akito says. “They don’t like talking about how I was half-heartedly raised as a boy. I think it makes them feel guilty.”

“You’re learning how to manipulate people,” Shigure says, but he only sounds proud about it, which… is a pretty Shigure thing to do, actually. Akito still flushes with it whether she means to or not, because Shigure’s praise is a much rarer thing than his love. 

“I don’t know if it’s a good thing,” Akito says, “but if it’s necessary to try and keep everyone safe, then I’ll do it.”

Shigure reaches out, turns her jaw until she’s facing him. For every centimeter he grows, it feels like she does, too: it feels like the distance between them is the same as ever. She wants to close the gap. 

Nothing is ever fast enough for her. 

“You don’t have to be the one working so hard for everyone else’s sake,” Shigure says.

“I do,” Akito says. “I’m the only one that can. If I wasn’t god, or if I wasn’t the head of the family, it might be different. But I’m both. It has to be me.”

Shigure smiles, and it’s a little sad and a little indulgent. He leans down, kisses her on the cheek instead of the forehead. “It had to be you,” Shigure says, softly, and Akito doesn’t know what that means, exactly, but she thinks she understands.

-

Kagura comes over whenever she hears that Kyo is coming over, and the two of them show Yuki and Akito a variety of martial arts moves. Sometimes Kazuma stays around to supervise; sometimes he wanders off to do adult things that Akito doesn’t question. (She finds that the answers tend to be boring.)

“You’re really good at this,” Kyo says, and he sounds a little annoyed and a little proud when Yuki manages to land a solid punch that sends Kyo backwards a foot. 

“It’s because you’re teaching me,” Yuki says.

“Maybe you shouldn’t learn from shishou,” Kyo says. “You might get even better than me.”

Yuki isn’t exactly competitive, but he and Kyo still have a rivalry going that Akito doesn’t pretend to understand. She chalks it up to being boys, but she can still see the way Yuki’s eyes glint. 

“Akito, can I take martial arts lessons?”

“Hey!” Kyo objects.

“It’ll be fun with Yun-chan!” Kagura chirps. “Akki, you should come too!”

Akito, put on the spot, shakes her head. “I don’t need to learn martial arts,” Akito says. “Not when I have all of you to protect me.”

Kyo snorts, and Kagura beams, and even Yuki looks pleased at the idea.

“--wait, that doesn’t mean I’m agreein’ to the rat joining!” Kyo says, and Yuki rolls his eyes and then falls back into the stance Kyo had taught him.

“Too late,” Yuki says, and throws another punch.

-

It’s healthy to have friends, which is what Akito reminds herself when Yuki goes out to play with people who are not her. It’s healthy, and she wants Yuki to be healthy, and she wants the juunishi to be healthy and happy and whole, so she allows it, even though she could say no.

(Sometimes, she imagines: keeping Yuki and Shigure and Kureno and Hatori all to herself, telling them they can never leave, that they can never leave her, that they don’t need anyone else. She knows that she could do it, that they would have to obey, and it always sends an electric pulse through her veins. In the end, she never does it -- she fears it would break them, break her. But she thinks about it, more often than she should. She’d love them even if they were broken. She’s just not sure they’d love her.)

Akito goes to Shigure, then, because if she can’t play with Yuki -- she has no interest in people who live outside the bounds of the curse -- she can go to him, and he’ll never turn her away. 

“Kureno is looking for you,” Shigure says, when she arrives, and she pauses. “There was an accident, with Yuki-kun.”

Akito feels her blood turn to ice, and she reaches out with the bond. Yuki is there, as whole as she can tell, but there’s a thick, cloying sadness there, a sense of grief and debt and guilt that’s all muddled together into an incomprehensible wound.

“A girl fell into him while they were playing,” Shigure explains. “He transformed.”

“We’ll erase their memories,” Akito says, automatically. She goes to Shigure when he reaches out; falls to her knees next to him and allows him to tilt her head up. His hands are warm. 

“Yuki-kun,” Shigure says, “was very happy to have made friends.” 

Akito looks at him, and Shigure looks back, and Akito has to think about it for a long moment. Yuki has always had friends. He’s had her and Kureno and Shigure and everyone else, but that isn’t what Shigure is talking about. He’s talking about Yuki’s new friends, his school friends, and Akito tries to puzzle out why that’s important.

“Is it possible,” Akito says, “to erase only the memory of today?”

Shigure glances back over his shoulder, though the open doors, and Akito can feel Hatori approach before he appears. Hatori looks at Shigure, and then at Akito, and then sighs, looking far too old for his years.

“The maids asked me to erase all of it,” Hatori says. Akito holds a hand out, and Hatori goes as he’s bid, stepping forward and letting Akito pull him down, too. She nestles between them both, pouring over the possibilities. “It will be easier for them to remember if I just erase today.” 

“Why did the maids tell you to erase all of it?” Akito asks. 

Hatori is silent.

“Hatori,” Akito says. She twists, turns in Shigure’s loose grip to press a hand down on Hatori’s leg and look up at him. “Hatori, why did _they_ tell you?” 

“Because we belong to you,” Shigure says, light and airy and offhanded. 

Akito swallows down the truth of it. They belong to her; they’re hers. To bend when she asks, to stand when she asks. 

But then: Kureno, who obeys only because he wants to. Kureno, who the maids don’t know is no longer cursed, who could find his own freedom outside of the gilded cage of the Sohma estate, but doesn’t. He stays with Akito because she asks him to, because she needs him, because he has never been allowed to do anything else. 

Akito turns her face into Hatori’s sleeve and doesn’t move for a long moment. 

“No one would believe a family that turns into animals,” Akito says. “Not from a second grader.”

“More than one person witnessed it,” Hatori says. He doesn’t sound like he’s in favor of either option, erasing their memories or not -- he’s just stating the facts, letting her come to her own conclusions. Akito makes a noise, annoyed and hurt and frustrated all at the same time, and Hatori smiles at her, sad and slow.

“I can’t do anything about it,” Akito says. “I can’t help him and I can’t help you. I hate this.” She buries her face in her hands and knows that she won’t cry, because it won’t help anything -- but she wants to. Wishes she could. Wishes they could all be normal children, living normal lives with normal parents. 

Wishing doesn’t mean anything. She has to take action to get what she wants, but what is there when she can’t do anything?

She can feel Shigure’s hand settle on her back, between her shoulderblades, and she turns into him without any thought. It’s an instinct, to press herself into his arms and let him wrap around her, to inhale sharp against his clothing and let the familiar smell drag her into something more calm.

“Akito,” Hatori says, softly. “There are some things that not even you can stop from happening.”

Akito knows that. She knows that. She can’t make the bond break or stop it from breaking. She can’t save the juunishi from pain. She can’t fix things that are broken. 

But she wants to be able to. 

“I know,” Akito says. “I know.” Her voice cracks, and she ignores it; Shigure’s thumb swipes low on her neck, in the gap where the collar of her kimono should sit. There’s a thousand things she wants to say -- that it’s unfair, that she doesn’t understand why any of this is happening, that she just wants everyone to be happy and to decide they’re happy with her -- but she doesn’t know how to say any of it.

“Let me tell him,” Akito says.

“No,” Hatori says, and Akito drags herself away to look at him, startled. Hatori is one of the ones who never tells her no; Hatori is a steady presence in her life. When did he get so tall? Did he always look so sad? “I won’t have him hating you for this, Akito.”

“But--” Akito wants to protest, that she’d rather Yuki be upset with her than with Hatori, that she’d rather prevent them both from pain.

It’s a lie. She doesn’t want Yuki to be angry at her for even a second, not anymore than she wants any of the others to be mad at her. She doesn’t want them to look at her and see the failure that she sees: someone in between a god and a person, a person who can’t even figure out who they are leading a family without any experience. 

“You have to let us protect you, too, sometimes,” Shigure says. 

Akito lets the air out of her lungs in a harsh breath, and then closes her eyes for a long moment. Everything within her is a storm, and she doesn’t know how to still any of it, so she just reaches out, grabs onto Shigure the person and Shigure the bond and holds tight until she can right herself.

“Okay,” Akito agrees, finally. “Okay.”

-

Yuki still doesn’t speak to Akito. He goes straight to his room from the front door, with only the most perfunctory of greetings. His eyes are red and his hands are balled into fists, and Akito wonders what she’s supposed to say in this circumstance.

“Is he,” Momiji says, “sad?” 

“Yes,” Akito says. 

“Are you?” Momiji asks, and Akito looks at him, startled. Then she softens.

“Yes,” Akito says, “but I think I’m only sad because he is.”

“That’s because you’re kind,” Momiji says, and offers her a smile. 

“That’s not true,” Akito says. “Everything I do is for selfish reasons.” 

“If you do nice things for selfish reasons, I think they’re still nice things,” Momiji says. “If I spend time with you because I want to, that’s selfish, isn’t it? But it still makes you happy.”

Momiji is too old for his age. It’s the trauma, Akito thinks -- that shared trauma that so many of them have. The loss and the fear. 

“Keep spending time with me,” Akito says, “and I’ll be less sad.”

“I’ll be less sad, too!” Momiji says, with a smile that seems to come to him so easily. “So it’s okay, if we’re both being selfish!” 

Akito’s not entirely sure that’s how this kind of logic works, but it sounds valid enough, and she wants to believe it: that she’s a good person despite the storm inside of her, that she’s doing what she can. That they’ll all be okay.

-

It’s a school night, so it’s hard to maneuver, but when she explains the exact situation to Kazuma, he ferries a confused Kyo over right away.

“What’s going on?” Kyo asks, and Akito just grabs him by the shoulders and steers him towards Yuki’s room.

“He’s mad at me,” Akito says. “But he isn’t mad at you, so go cheer him up.”

“What’d you _do_?” Kyo asks, and Akito sighs, letting her arms drop.

“I think it’s what I didn’t do,” Akito says, and Kyo shoots her a quizzical look before he opens Yuki’s door without knocking.

“Oi, rat, you in here? Why’re you sitting in here with all the lights off?” Kyo says, and the door slides closed behind him.

This is all Akito can do, for the moment, she thinks, so she goes back to her room and pretends to study until Momiji offers a distraction in the form of a television anime he’s gotten into lately.

-

Yuki isn’t at breakfast. Kyo is, and when Akito staggers in, Kyo gets up and goes back to Yuki’s room. He half-steers, half-drags Yuki out a minute later, Yuki still blearily rubbing at his eyes, and it isn’t until halfway through breakfast that Yuki seems to wake up the rest of the way, in the middle of Momiji attempting to teach Kureno the basics of a German breakfast menu.

“So, the potatoes--” 

“Kureno,” Yuki says, and stifles a yawn with his sleeve. “Can I stay home today?”

“Are you sick?” Momiji asks. He stands immediately, concerned, forever showing every emotion on his face, and Yuki offers him a small smile.

“I’m tired,” Yuki says. “I don’t want to risk transforming.”

Akito heard he and Kyo talking late into the night -- she didn’t try and eavesdrop, made a conscious effort not to, but it was a bit of a struggle. 

“I gotta get going,” Kyo says.

“I’ll give you a ride, Kyo-kun,” Kureno says. “And I’ll call the school for you, Yuki-kun. Get some rest. Do you need to see Hatori-niisan?”

Yuki shakes his head. Slowly, everyone peters out: Kureno and Kyo, then Momiji, and then it’s just Akito and Yuki gathering up the last of the dishes to put in the sink for the maids. 

“I know,” Yuki says, “you didn’t want to do it.”

Akito stiffens. 

“I know that,” Yuki says. “I know you would never hurt me. But I’m still angry about it.”

“If you have to be angry at me,” Akito says, and she tries to say that it’s okay, but her voice cracks before she can manage it. Yuki is hers, but more important than that bond-deep sense of love is the sense of affection she’s cultivated towards Yuki the _person_ \-- Yuki who coughs all the time, who eats all of Kyo’s leaks, who can’t keep his room clean and critiques all of Momiji’s anime quietly with Akito. The idea of him being angry at her is twice as upsetting, because it isn’t just the promise of a past life. 

“I won’t be angry for long,” Yuki says, earnestly, and reaches out to take Akito’s sleeve in his hand. 

Akito hesitates, and then reaches out to take his other hand in hers. “Please,” she says, “always come back to me.”

“I will,” Yuki promises. “I will.”

-

Shigure is graduating, and of course Akito isn’t allowed to go. She waits at home, instead, smooths wrinkles out of her clothing and wonders why she doesn’t own a single dress. This is the kind of thing she wants to celebrate, even if she’s becoming markedly more aware in the differences in age between them. Shigure is becoming an adult; she’s barely a teenager, and she still sees a boy when she looks in the mirror.

“Shigure,” she says. “Congratulations.”

He lifts her up, but not as solidly as he might have, before: Akito is getting older, too. She’s been outgrowing her clothes, lately, the hem of her kimono failing to hit the floor. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come,” Akito says, and she doesn’t have to apologize, she knows that -- it hadn’t been her fault -- but she still wishes she’d been able to see it. She’s missing so much of everyone’s lives, being shut away in the Sohma estate. She tells herself it’s just until she’s an adult, but she doesn’t know if she’ll make it that long. 

“You’ll have to make it up to me, of course,” Shigure says, so seriously that Akito knows well that it isn’t serious at all. 

“Will I?” she says, instead.

“You’ll have to throw me a party,” Shigure says. He walks with her in his arms, an easy stride. “With punch, and food.”

“Ah, yes,” Akito says. “I’ll invite everyone and pretend you won’t sneak in alcohol.”

“If I don’t, Aaya will,” Shigure says. He sets her down when they hit the living room. “But it can be a party with just the two of us.”

Akito smiles at him. “Then I’ll monopolize you for a little longer,” she says.

-

Akito is strategic about it, when it finally occurs to her. She knows that she is rarely allowed out, and never for frivolous reasons -- the family can’t afford to have anything happen to the heir; to god -- so she pits that unchangeable fact against an equally unstoppable force and holds her breath to see which one will win.

“Ayame,” Akito says. “Will you take me shopping?”

Delight crosses the entirety of Ayame’s person. 

He wins.

Akito is old enough that she doesn’t need to hold his hand when they’re out, but she’s not exactly used to crowds, and he can’t risk being bumped into, so the two of them still stay close, using each other as a shield. 

“I want a dress,” Akito says. “Or something… something cute.”

Ayame makes a considering noise. Akito owns a nearly endless amount of boy’s clothing, because it’s an unspoken rule of the household that it’s what Ren wanted; it’s what Akira wanted. No one has gone so far as to pretend that Akito is actually a boy, but she doesn’t think anyone goes out of their way to correct any misunderstandings, either. 

Akito has never really asked where her clothing comes from, it just appears, the wardrobe changing seasonally with her growth.

“You’re becoming a woman,” Ayame says, and the way he says it makes Akito feel more than a little self-conscious. She doesn’t feel like a woman, or like she’s becoming one, but her figure has been getting softer in the mirror and she hasn’t been brave enough to ask anyone about it. 

It’s criminal that all of the older juunishi are boys, she thinks. 

“I guess,” Akito says.

Ayame puts a hand on her head, and then steers her to a section with more pastel colors than Akito has seen in her entire life.

“Then the first step is the appropriate undergarments!” Ayame says. “Excuse me, would you mind helping my younger sister be fitted? Yes, it’s her first time, she’s very nervous--”

Suddenly, Akito wonders if this was such a good idea.

-

“What did you buy?” Kureno asks, when Ayame has to help her bring everything in. Akito looks at the bags, looks at Ayame, and looks at Kureno.

“Things,” Akito says, and bolts with the bag of bras into her room. 

She puts everything away. Stuffs all the underwear in the drawers and locks the dresses away like they’re forbidden, and it takes her awhile before she ventures to wear anything. When she does, it’s just a bra underneath her normal clothing. She’s hyperaware of it, and she braces herself for everyone else to comment on it. Surely she looks different, surely they can tell.

But no one says anything. All the glances from Yuki and Momiji and Kureno are just normal looks, and not furtive attempts to see what’s different about her. She looks at herself in the mirror and she can see it, she can feel it, but no one else can. 

She wears the bra with a shirt, next; a plain button down and a pair of pants. This time someone notices -- one of the maids comes over unannounced to adjust her collar. She’s one of the newer maids, and she offers Akito a smile when she does it, which leaves Akito feeling overwhelmed with the simplicity of the action.

After that, she ventures into one of the dresses: she wears it to pick Yuki and Momiji up at the gates, a simple slip dress over a shirt. Yuki doesn’t really react, but Momiji immediately latches onto her hand.

“Akki, you look really cute!” he says. “You look really, really cute!”

“I,” Akito says, unable to process the idea.

“Akito,” Momiji says, extremely seriously, looking up at her. “Can we wear _matching outfits_?”

Yuki snorts out a laugh as Akito flushes. “You’re not dating.”

“Don’t be mean!” Momiji says. “I just wanna match with her! You’re just jealous you don’t like wearing dresses!”

“Who would be jealous of that?” Yuki says.

-

Yuki has a hat, which is weird, because baseball hats are neither his style nor the kind of thing that Ayame has taken to trying to dress him up in, proclaiming that it’s the highest form of affection. Yuki notices Akito’s look when he steps in, and he turns red, which makes Akito understand exactly where he’d gotten it.

“It’s from Kyo?” Akito asks.

“It blew away,” Yuki says. “He said I could keep it.” 

“It looks nice on you,” Akito says. It looks out of place, but that’s part of why it’s charming: it’s clearly a piece of his wardrobe given to him by someone else. Frankly, Akito is just glad that they’ve all managed to resolve their issues. For as much as she can still feel the searing under her skin when she touches Kyo, it’s easier to ignore. She doesn’t know what it feels like for Yuki, but she thinks it must be similar, that he can press down a lifetime of grievances that aren’t really his.

“It’s just a hat!” Yuki says, and rushes away to put it in his room.

“Huh,” Akito says, to no one in particular.

-

Yuki is gone, which is something Akito doesn’t find out until after the fact, when he’s already back. The news greets her in the morning when she’s still half-asleep on her feet, and she listens without understanding half of what the maids are telling her before she decides to go directly to the source.

She opens Yuki’s door, walks in, and drops down next to him. 

“Are you dead,” Akito asks. 

“No,” Yuki says, and then coughs.

“Good,” Akito says. “They made it sound like you were dead.” She can hear Yuki’s breathing being labored, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he turns into his animal form more than a few times over the next few days, but she’s also too tired to think about it. 

Kureno comes in, after a moment; he looks at them both and then leaves without a word.

“Did you sneak out?” Akito asks.

“Yes,” Yuki admits. He fidgets with the edge of the blanket, pulling it too high up over his mouth like he’s afraid Akito is going to yell at him.

“Next time,” Akito says, “take me with you.”

“Okay,” Yuki promises. 

Kureno comes back a moment later, wielding two trays of breakfast food, and sets them down in front of Akito and Yuki.

“You’re off school for the week,” Kureno says, “so try to get your strength back.”

“I will,” Yuki says, and Akito tries not to fall back asleep in her miso.

-

Akito wakes up to Yuki in her futon, propped up against her, and she blearily staggers out of bed to tell Kureno he needs more medicine, to give Momiji a hug and send him off to school, and then she grabs an entire bottle of tea and goes back to bed. Not to sleep, just to sit there and listen to Yuki’s breathing and remind herself he’s alive.

“Yuki,” she says, finally, nudging him when she hears the sound of someone else arriving. The kind of medicine Yuki needs right now is familiar enough that Kureno gives it to him and Yuki takes it and only makes a small face, and then Akito and Yuki yawn in unison. 

“I’ll bring the television in here,” Kureno says, “if you both still do your work.” 

They promise, of course, and Kureno sets them both up with extra pillows to make sure Yuki can be in the most upright of positions and Akito can still do work. She gets a clipboard, which makes her feel very important and then embarrassed about how important it makes her feel, because she’s pretty sure she’s getting too old to be a kid anymore. 

“I helped someone,” Yuki says, eventually. Akito almost thought he was asleep. 

“When you left?” Akito asks.

“Yes,” Yuki says. “Kyo knew her mom, but I didn’t know them. She was lost… I wanted to help.” 

Akito doesn’t reply. She doesn’t know what to say, and she’s learning the value of not needing to fill a silence, of letting someone say what they need to. 

“Kyo got mad at me,” Yuki says. “I think he wanted to be the one to help her. I gave her his hat.”

“That was nice of you,” Akito offers.

“Her mom was so worried,” Yuki says. “She was so scared. I wonder… if that’s what it’s supposed to be like.”

Akito hesitates, and then shifts, wraps herself around Yuki. “I worry about you,” Akito says, almost sullenly, knowing it isn’t enough.

“Thank you,” Yuki says.

-

Hatsuharu is sitting in Akito’s living room, which is… not the weirdest thing that has happened recently, but isn’t exactly normal, either. She blinks at him, and he offers her a nod, like it’s totally normal that he should be sitting at her table.

“Waiting,” he says, “for Yuki.”

“He’s with Hatori,” Akito says. Hatsuharu nods again, like he’s well aware of this, and Akito blinks. She drifts away into her room until she hears Yuki come back, and then she watches Hatsuharu veer straight for him.

“I didn’t realize you were friends,” Akito says.

“Akito,” Yuki says, as Hatsuharu reaches out to take the edge of Yuki’s shirt into his hand. “Is it alright if he comes over after martial arts, sometimes?”

Hatsuharu nods, like he’s the one who can answer this. 

“I don’t mind,” Akito says, and hopes this doesn’t result in someone else moving in. Shigure might get actually mad.

-

Akito still isn’t entirely sure what changed, but Yuki goes to martial arts and spends more time out of the house -- and when he’s in the house, Kyo and Hatsuharu are frequently there, too, with Kagura making appearances as often as she can. It delights Momiji, of course, and Akito’s also fond of it, even if it means Kureno has to usher all of them out to ensure that any actual work, eating, or sleeping gets done with minimal property damage. Except then, half the time, Ayame shows up with a new outfit for Akito or Momiji -- or more rarely, but more memorably, Yuki -- and he doesn’t leave until late into the night if he leaves at all, and then sometimes Kureno has to call Shigure or Hatori to try to get him, and…

“It’s so lively,” Akito says, and Kureno glances at her.

“Is it what you wanted?” Kureno asks, and Akito doesn’t answer right away. It’s a piece to the puzzle inside of her, but she can’t quite unravel it yet. She can’t quite articulate what it is that she wants.

-

Kyo visits for his school vacation, and Hatsuharu piles in, too. He brings with Rin him, and then Kagura shows up to be involved, and Momiji insists on fireworks, and before Akito knows it the entire thing has spiralled out of control and all the juunishi are there, from Hatori down to Hiro, assembled at the edge of the Sohma estate.

“It’s so pretty!” Kagura says, and gives Ritsu a sparkler. Ritsu nearly drops it and starts apologizing, and Akito deftly intercepts the entire thing by telling him that his dress is cute. (It is -- she’s fairly certain that it’s one of Kagura’s, and Kagura has always had good taste in fashion. She thinks.)

“I’m sorry!” Ritsu wails, and Akito closes her hands on his to steady the sparkler. “I shouldn’t make you see a person like me when I’m wearing this kind of clothing--”

“I think,” Akito says, and squeezes his hands until he looks at her, “that you should wear whatever makes you happy. Momiji doesn’t wear boy’s clothing that often, and I don’t wear girl’s clothing. You don’t have to single yourself out.”

Ritsu looks at her and doesn’t say anything for a long moment. 

“Thank you,” Ritsu says, finally, and his voice is normal, if a little thicker for the sound of unshed tears. Kagura is watching them, and she steps in finally, grabbing Ritsu’s hand.

“Come on, Kyo-kun has the bigger ones!” Kagura says, and drags him away despite his protests. Akito takes a seat again, perching on the wood of the porch. She’s not in a dress, but she isn’t in traditional clothing, either. Between Ayame’s clothing and Shigure’s guidance, she’s found a muted fashion sense that she favors, and she smooths the wrinkles out of her pants as she sits.

“That was kind of you,” Isuzu says. She looks tired, and Akito wonders why. She and Isuzu aren’t close, but it isn’t like they don’t get along -- Akito reaches out without asking to touch her hair, and Isuzu leans into it, patient and easy. 

“It was self-serving,” Akito says. “I’m not very good at being a girl, so I don’t want him to hate himself for being bad at being a boy.”

Isuzu looks at Akito. She twists to do it, and Akito lets her hair drop out of her fingers to look back. Isuzu looks older than her years in a way that Akito thinks is unfortunately common with the juunishi -- she can see it in Momiji’s smile, in Yuki’s politesse, in the way Kyo clenches his fists against the world. 

“Do you think you’re not kind?” Isuzu asks, and her eyes are a little wide. Akito doesn’t know what to say to that, truthfully: she doesn’t feel kind, but no one else can hear the whispering inside of her, feel that roiling darkness. The urge to lock them all away; the urge to destroy them until they’re unrecognizable, until only she could love them, until they’ll only love her. 

“There’s just,” Akito says, slowly, because it’s Isuzu, and she doesn’t know her well enough to be embarrassed about it, “so much I’m not able to do.”

Isuzu reaches out. She hesitates, but Akito doesn’t move, and Isuzu puts a hand on Akito’s cheek. Her hand is warm, and her face is lit up with the fireworks, the two of them wrapped in the sound of laughter.

“That’s all of us,” Isuzu says. “All of us want to be able to do more.”

Akito stares at her for a long moment, and then takes her hand, slowly, leaning forward until their foreheads touch. Isuzu is tense at the contact, and Akito wishes it was as easy to touch Isuzu as it was to touch Yuki or Kureno or Kagura. 

“Thank you,” Akito says, and Isuzu closes her eyes.

They stay like that for a long moment.

“Am I interrupting something?” Shigure’s voice asks, and they pull apart. Isuzu murmurs something about Hatsuharu, and steps away, and Akito looks at Shigure. 

“You know, it’s one thing for you to live with so many men,” Shigure says, sitting down next to Akito, “but if I have to worry about women, too--”

“Shut up,” Akito says, and Shigure grins down at her. “You’re the one I have to worry about. I’ve heard that you and Ayame were absolutely out of control in high school.”

Shigure glances away, laughing. “Well, you could say that…”

“So if anyone gets to be jealous, it’s me,” Akito says, and Shigure grins. He reaches out, twines a bit of her hair around his finger.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” Shigure says, and Akito frowns at him. Then kicks him. 

“Ow,” Shigure says, but he’s still laughing. They fall silent for a moment, in that easy, companionable way -- Akito feels safe with Shigure in a way she doesn’t with anyone else, and for all that she feels like he could slip through her fingers, he never does. He stays there, slips an arm around her and she leans her head on his shoulder.

She watches everyone. Everyone is laughing, everyone is smiling; they look like a normal family. A little strange around the edges, with Ritsu’s dress and Ayame’s voice raising over everyone else and Hatori sighing as he hefts up a curious Kisa, but a family in the way that Akito thinks she’s always wanted. 

If she’d been able to have her parents, she doesn’t think it would have been like this. It’s hard to reconcile the woman in the photographs with her idea of what a mother should be; Akito wants to have memories of being lifted up, of being held, of having her hair brushed before bed. She doesn’t have any of those, and neither do most of the juunishi.

It’s changing. She looks at Kureno, who is patiently lighting the fireworks as Momiji passes them over, and feels the edge of the missing bond, the old wound. It still makes her heart stop in her chest, but this -- this family, this joy, this sense of peace -- makes it better. 

Her eyes rest on Kyo, and Akito pauses. His eyes are so bright, and he looks at Yuki and laughs at something. Really laughs, in a way that Akito so rarely sees when Kyo is so guarded -- when he used to be so guarded around her, around Yuki. When he had to be, because of his fate.

Akito turns again, looks at Shigure.

“Do you think they’re happy?” Akito asks, softly. “Are you?”

Shigure looks at her. 

“Yes,” he says, and leans in to kiss her, soft and quick on the lips, and Akito feels like she’s falling into a new kind of love.

-

“I’m going to break the curse,” Akito says. She’s laying across the grass, head tucked onto Shigure’s thigh, watching the flowers sway in the breeze. It’s a moment in time that stretches onwards, and she feels like it’s important because of its insignificance.

“Oh?” There’s the rustle of a page turning, and then Shigure’s hand moves back down to continue combing through Akito’s hair, trailing down to her neck and back up again. He seems unphased by the declaration.  
`  
“Everyone is hurt by it,” Akito says. “I’m glad… I’m grateful for it, because it gave you to me.” Akito tilts her head to look at Shigure, and Shigure looks back, setting his book aside in favor of giving her attention. 

“Do you know how?” Shigure asks, mildly, and Akito shakes her head. She pushes herself up so she can lean against him, instead, and he holds her. The way he holds her has been changing, slowly: he moves his arms to accommodate the fact that she’s growing, that she’s becoming a woman in all the ways she’s sure her mother would have hated. 

“No,” Akito says. “I’m going to destroy the cat’s room.”

Shigure looks at her for a long moment. It’s a serious statement, and one that borders nearly on blasphemy for all that the Sohma stand for -- but then he just smiles at her, leans in and kisses her on the forehead. 

“Are you asking me to help?” Shigure asks.

“Kureno has been the one in charge of everything,” Akito says. “Kureno and the maids, making sure that the household is run and I just sign off on any important decisions. But I start highschool soon. I’m going to take it more seriously.”

Shigure is quiet, his hands combing through her hair. “Hmm. I suppose ‘attendant to the head of the household’ has a nice ring to it.”

Akito smiles at him. “Maybe you can finally move in,” Akito says, and Shigure grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can see the butterfly effect slowly starting to expand in this chapter as things drift further and further away from canon... also i've done my best to edit this but frankly i just want it off my computer so TAKE THIS 15K WORD BEHEMOTH AND HOPEFULLY I'VE PROPERLY FINISHED ALL THE SECTIONS also i am doing my best to keep the timeline straight here so if i make any errors just... pretend... it's because it's an au... thanks


	3. Chapter 3

“I want you to move out,” Akito says. Shigure hasn’t moved _in_ , but he still lives on the greater Sohma estate, which is what she’s referring to. She trusts him to keep up with the way her thoughts work, but -- she gives him a second. Shigure looks at her, slowly, carefully guarding his reaction. “I think you’re the one most capable of surviving on his own. So I want you to move out of the estate.”

“What brought this on, exactly?” Shigure says. He reaches out for her, and Akito steps over, falling into his embrace and letting herself be pulled into his lap. It isn’t a rejection of him, and she doesn’t want it to be mistaken for that. His touch is surer than it might be otherwise, pulling her in close.

“I want a place outside of these walls for everyone to go to,” Akito says. “For Yuki, and for me, and for all the others. I want to visit every weekend and stay at a place that feels like a home with you. I don’t think we’ll have that within these walls. Not yet.”

Akito doesn’t have enough power yet. She’s the head of the family, but she’s still limited: she isn’t an adult yet, she hasn’t fully grown into herself yet. She’s getting there, but there’s only so much that she can do.

It feels rude, to say that the place she lives with Kureno isn’t a home -- but the maids are in and out at all times. It houses their laughter and their love, but it isn’t a home in the way Akito is starting to want. Yuki needs a place, too -- a place to grow beyond the Sohma expectations. A place where he isn’t the rat; a place where no one knows his history. They all need that. They all deserve it. 

“You have to help me,” Akito says, and she hates having to ask for help, hates having to feel this small about it. “I have to change things. I have to break the curse, and make sure everyone can be free, but I can’t do it alone.”

Shigure looks at her for a long moment, appraising the situation calmly. 

“Alright,” he agrees, after a moment. “I was thinking of trying my hand at writing. I’ll get a place.” 

Akito leans into his shoulder and exhales. “Thank you,” she says.

“And then I’ll help you overthrow the family,” Shigure continues, and Akito smiles.

-

Shigure leans in to kiss Akito on the forehead, but she moves, leans upwards into it. Shigure has the time to stop, but doesn’t; Akito presses their lips together. She doesn’t move past that, doesn’t have any knowledge of how, exactly, the specific mechanics of kissing actually work, but she knows that she wants Shigure to kiss her more than she’s ever wanted anything in the world. They’ve had a few, here and there, chaste and easy, but there’s a pressure that’s starting to build in her chest. She wants more. 

Shigure pulls back, eventually. “This is a surprise,” he says, and there’s something calculating in his voice, like Akito is a particularly interesting puzzle. 

“You love me, don’t you?” Akito says. She isn’t nervous, refuses to admit she could ever be nervous. She presses her hand against his chest, flattens it out across his t-shirt and refuses to believe that he could reject her after everything. She thinks it might break her, if he did.

He covers her hand with his own, his other hand reaching up to push her bangs out of her eyes. 

“Yes,” Shigure agrees, easily. This time, Shigure is the one that kisses her, and it rushes to Akito’s head because all the kissing she’s seen in movies and anime and books doesn’t compare to this. It leaves her light-headed and fuzzy, leaves her chest tight and her stomach twisting in a not entirely unpleasant way.

-

Shigure starts to plan for moving out, but it’s a slow process: Akito watches it step by step. The land is already in Sohma name, and it’s easy to refurbish the house that stands there to make sure that it’s fit for him to live in. She waits until it’s all squared away, and then she waits again, on a night that Shigure is over, when Kureno is up late and Yuki and Momiji are both in bed.

“I need your help,” Akito says. “I want to destroy the cat’s room. I want to go to a high school in person. I want to break the curse.”

“One of those things,” Shigure says, “is easier than the others.”

“It’ll still be hard,” Kureno says. “To convince them.”

“I know,” Akito says. She spreads her hands across the table and looks down at them, considering her options carefully. “I’ve picked out the school I intend to go to. If I can do so, then I intend to stay at Shigure’s over the weekends.”

“You’re working up to something,” Shigure says, and Akito looks at him, feeling like he’s seeing straight through her. That’s fine, right now; she needs that, right now. She nods.

“Kureno can’t move out yet,” Akito says, and she looks at him, but he seems unphased by it. “But when I’m an adult, he can. Until then, I want the household to get used to the idea that we won’t live our lives within the estate walls. We’ll visit Shigure; we’ll go to school where we want to. Every tradition we break will make it easier to break the larger ones.”

“Do you think that will break the curse?” Kureno asks, delicately, and Akito considers it for a long moment.

“No,” she says. “Maybe. I don’t know what will break the curse. But -- the things I want to do -- they feel right.”

“Aah, I’m looking forward to this!” Shigure says. “I’ve never participated in a full on power struggle before.”

Akito sighs, and Shigure leans across the table to stroke across her jawline. “You’ll look cute in a school uniform,” he says, and Kureno stands up immediately to go make tea.

-

Hatori has a beer, unopened, on the table, which is Akito’s first clue that something is weird. Her second clue is the fact that Yuki, Kureno, and Momiji have _all_ vacated, and she leans back to look down the hall in a very faint sense of alarm.

“Hatori?” she says, making the name into a question as she steps back in to sit down across the kotatsu. 

“There’s something we need to talk about,” Hatori says, and his tone is strange in a way that makes anxiety rise into Akito’s hands. She reaches without moving -- but no, she can still feel the bond between them, can still feel the promise as resounding as ever.

“You’re,” Akito says, “making me nervous.”

Hatori sighs, exasperated and annoyed, but Akito thinks -- hopes -- it isn’t at her. “I want you to know that my having this conversation with you,” Hatori says, “was considered the _least_ awkward option.”

Akito blinks. “What conversation,” she says, suddenly realizing what this is all about, “are we having, exactly?”

“Sex,” Hatori says, and Akito looks away, turning red. 

“Well,” Akito says, finally, “I certainly don’t want to learn about it from Ayame.” 

Hatori reaches out. He opens the can of beer and takes a long sip, and Akito is suddenly very regretful of the fact that both participants in this conversation are reasonably rule-abiding, which means that _she_ won’t be allowed to have any of the beer. 

“No,” Hatori agrees, “you really don’t.” 

Akito considers her options, then reaches across the table, grabs the beer, and, when she is not immediately stopped, takes a sip.

It’s gross, but she expected that. She slides it back over. 

“This isn’t a conversation from my doctor, is it?” Akito asks.

“Your doctor advises against drinking alcohol at age 14,” Hatori says, dryly. “Your cousin, on the other hand, thinks it could be necessary for a conversation based on the knowledge that you’re going to be sleeping with Shigure.”

“You’re more like a brother,” Akito says, after a moment, because the fact that he’s putting it so _plainly_ makes it simultaneously easier to digest and also extremely embarrassing -- in part because she, truthfully, had not dared to venture that far except in her wildest late night imaginings.

“If you were my little sister,” Hatori says, “I would not let you date Shigure.”

Akito smiles, because she knows that’s a lie -- Hatori and Shigure are best friends, despite all the personality differences -- but doesn’t call him out on it, because dating Shigure probably is, objectively, proof of her bad taste. 

“At any rate,” Hatori says, and takes another sip of his drink. “Birth control.”

Akito snags the can again and wonders if there’s more in the fridge.

-

Akito drinks approximately two thirds a can of beer over the course of the conversation, and then when the conversation is over she pads firmly into her room and immediately calls Shigure.

“I hate you,” is her opener, which she thinks is polite given that she just had to learn how to use a condom and prevent accidental pregnancy.

“It went well, then?” Shigure asks, and there’s a laugh in his voice. 

“You could have told me all of that,” Akito says, and lays down on her floor. Sometimes she wishes she had a bed to lay on dramatically, but she’s stuck with tatami mats and futons because there’s only so much clashing decor the maids are going to put up with.

“I could have,” Shigure says, “but then Haa-san would have told you anyway, because he wouldn’t have trusted me.”

“I trust you,” Akito says, and blames the alcohol for how easily it comes out. She’s warm all over, her face flushed and her entire body feeling faintly like it’s wrapped in a thick sheet of cotton. 

“I know,” Shigure says. “It’s only because he worries about you, Akito.” 

“Do you?” Akito asks. “Worry about me, I mean.”

There’s a pause. “I do,” Shigure says.

“I don’t worry about you,” Akito says, but the weight of it feels funny on her tongue. She rolls over with the phone, facing the wall, tracing patterns onto the flooring. “I don’t think the kind of things most people could do would hurt you. I think I could hurt you, if I tried.”

Shigure laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound: it’s a dark thing, as dark as what lurks inside of Akito that she refuses to acknowledge. She sees flashes of it in all of them, that twisted thing: in her temper, in Shigure’s ability to control a situation, in Ayame’s poor empathy, in Ritsu’s fear. 

“You could,” Shigure says. “Do you want to?”

“Yes,” Akito says, without thinking. “Sometimes. Sometimes I think about hurting you. If you’re hurt, I want to be the one to do it. I want to see it, and then I want to hold you afterwards.” It’s not the kind of thing she thinks teenaged girls are meant to say to their boyfriends; it’s nothing like the shoujo manga she’s read or the books she’s devoured. “Is that wrong?”

“No,” Shigure says. “It’s honest. I don’t think I’d let anyone except you hurt me, and I certainly wouldn’t let anyone else hurt you.” 

“Does that mean,” Akito says, “that sometimes, you think about hurting me, too?” It’s the urge to drive off a cliff, the urge to shatter a plate on the ground, the urge to claw at someone until they bleed. A recurring, burning desire that Akito doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

“I do,” Shigure says. “I’ve hurt your feelings before.”

“When I was a child,” Akito agrees. “That’s not the same thing. I don’t think you’d hurt me more than I could handle.” There’s silence, for a moment, and before Shigure can say anything, Akito plunges ahead: “I thought about it. If you’d ever stopped loving me, or if you rejected me. I thought that I might break. But then I thought that if you tried, I would just make you love me more. Even if it hurt you. I’d possess you down until I was the only thing inside of you.”

“That’s a kind of love, too,” Shigure says. “Perhaps that’s the kind of love that people like you and I are suited for. You have my permission to ruin me, if I ever make the mistake of not loving you.”

“I will,” Akito promises, and feels it resonate within her: she’d do whatever she needed, to keep him by her side, because he belongs to her. It’s the bond, and it isn’t; it’s her own desire, too, the two twisting against each other. And then, because there’s still alcohol in her blood and her mind is skip-skip-skipping across all the things she wants to say, to feel, to experience, she says: “Hatori says I can start birth control, but you should still use a condom.”

“You know, most girls want to move slow with their boyfriends,” Shigure says, and it’s the first time he’s actually referred to himself as her boyfriend, and it makes her flush from head to toe, takes her breath away. He’s said he loves her a million times, and she believes it -- but she was a child for so long, and she’s still on the border of it, and she can feel things changing. The way he loves her. The way she loves him.

“I feel like we’ve gone slow enough,” Akito says, “but I’m the inexperienced one, here.” 

“So I’ll have to teach you, is what you’re saying?” Shigure says.

“Please treat me well, sensei,” Akito says.

“Ah, when you say it like that, it’s much harder to think of going slowly!” Shigure says, and his voice is a whine, but Akito knows the truth of it: he will continue moving their relationship forward exactly as quickly as Akito is ready for, even if she wants things to go faster.

“It must be very hard for you,” Akito says.

“Akito, you have no idea how hard things are for me,” Shigure says. “It’s terrible. I still can’t live with you, you know.”

Akito laughs. “I’ll sneak you in my window.”

“I don’t think it counts as sneaking when you’re on the ground floor…”

-

Ren Sohma still has power in the Sohma estate. She’s dead, of course, but has wishes that have to be honored, things that have to be done. It’s the same with Akira, the heavy weight of tradition falling like a stifling blanket over Akito’s life.

Everything has to be an ordeal, and the fact that something as simple as Akito going to highschool requires a meeting with several elders is one of the most annoying things in Akito’s life at that precise moment.

Akito takes Kureno to the meeting, because he’s been helping handle her affairs for long enough that he’s gained his own kind of power. She doesn’t wear kimono: she puts on slacks and a nice shirt, adds a vest on top. Even the best bra in the world can’t save her when she’s wearing that many layers, but it tucks in at the side and it makes her look professional, she thinks.

Or it just makes her look like Hatori. One of the two.

“You’ve been excelling at school,” one of the elders says. “I don’t see why you insist on leaving now.”

“I intend to continue to excel,” Akito says. “Which is a goal that will be made easier if I can network with peers.”

“If she attends the school she has in mind,” Kureno says, his voice soft, his language polite, “she’ll be alongside the future heirs for many other families.”

“We don’t care about other families,” a different woman sniffs.

“We should,” Akito says. “The world will move on without the Sohma, if we don’t continue to make our presence known.”

There’s murmuring: Akito is correct, Akito is wrong. Akito is impudent and young. 

“The outside world,” Akito says, “may not be important to the people that live within these walls, but it still exerts control over us. Ignoring that could lead to ruin.”

Realistically, the sheer amount of tax documents that Akito has to deal with on a regular basis is enough to make her want to go into the outside world to wring the neck of the politician’s responsible, but she can’t say that. Probably.

“I think it’s smart,” one of them says, finally. “I’m glad you’re putting such thought into your future, Akito-san.”

Akito doesn’t know if that’s what she’s doing, exactly -- but it seems like it, in a way, and so she only offers a pleasant smile in return.

“Of course,” Akito says, and waits until she’s safely back in the walls of her living room to swing herself up into Kureno’s arms. 

“We did it,” Akito says.

“You did it,” Kureno says, and Akito looks at him. 

“I couldn’t have,” Akito says, “without you.” 

Kureno’s smile is soft, and Akito leans into his arms again, lets herself breathe out the leftover anxiety of dealing with too many family politics. 

“We can celebrate,” Kureno says, and Akito grins up at him.

-

Celebrating on such short notice might be harder if Akito was literally anyone else, but she has the questionably good fortune of being god on her side, and so her house is full by evening. Nearly the entirety of the juunishi are there, save for Kisa and Hiro, who have been deemed too young for a potentially (definitely, given Ayame’s presence) raucous celebration, Ritsu, who was too busy to travel back to the estate from the onsen, and Kagura, who apparently has too much homework.

Kagura shows up anyway, a little late, with pencil lead still smudged onto her hand, and immediately latches onto Kyo (who tolerates it because Yuki is on his other side, and because Akito has threatened to throw them all out if they break her table again).

“And so, you see, that was how I became the president of the student council!” Ayame is saying to an enraptured looking Momiji, who is nodding at all the appropriate parts of the story. 

“When I go to high school,” Yuki says, dryly, “do _I_ get a party like this?” 

“You’d hate having a party like this,” Akito says, lightly, and Yuki offers her a smile in return, because it’s true: Yuki appreciates love in considerably smaller proportions than Akito, who craves affection at all times and finds it still isn’t enough. 

“We’re celebrating more than that,” Shigure says. He steps over with several cups, sets them down on the table -- three of them are an ambiguous carbonated beverage that Akito determines to be soda after she sniffs it; the last one he places in front of himself, so Akito immediately takes a sip of his sake. 

“Akito,” Hatori says, from halfway across the room where he’s in casual discussion with Kureno, and Akito looks Hatori dead in the eyes and takes another sip of Shigure’s drink. _Then_ she sets it down and accepts her soda, albeit a little begrudgingly. 

“What, there’s more than just you going to school?” Kyo says. 

“Well,” Akito says. “It’s not so much that I’m going to school as it is that… I was able to convince the family to let me do what I want.”

“They didn’t want to let you?” Kagura asks, from where she’s perched with her arms around Kyo’s waist and her head on his shoulder. 

“You’re heavy,” Kyo tells her.

Kagura opens her mouth, looking deeply wounded, and Akito jumps back into the conversation before she has to call a repairman. 

“Until I’m an adult, I don’t think they’ll respect me,” Akito says. “Maybe not even then.”

“You’re _god_ ,” Kagura says.

“To you,” Akito says, and Kagura makes a face like the idea of Akito not being god is personally offensive. Privately, Akito agrees: everyone should listen to her, at all times, regardless of whether they’re in the juunishi or not.

Kureno has heavily implied that Akito doesn’t know everything, and Akito thinks that’s true, but everyone should definitely still listen to her, or at least Hatori. Hatori might actually know everything. 

“You’re still taking over the family,” Yuki says. “My mother talks about it.”

Akito is somehow not surprised that Yuki’s rare visits with his family are spent talking about family politics. 

“I am,” Akito says. “They’re not all happy about it, though. If I’d been born a boy, it might have been easier, but I’m a girl…”

“That’s,” Kagura says, “stupid. There’s not anyone else that can take over, right? It doesn’t matter if you’re a girl.”

“Tradition,” Shigure says. 

“Tradition,” Yuki says, “is stupid.”

Akito watches the way Yuki looks at Kyo when he says it. She leans against Shigure, who shifts, makes room for her against him. He shifts his cup into his other hand so he can wrap an arm around her stomach in a loose hold, and she reaches out for that bright spark of bond between them. Wonders how it will feel when that’s gone.

“Yes,” Akito says, and drifts a look over at Kureno. “So really, this is a party to celebrate the breaking of traditions.”

“If you want, I can just punch someone,” Kyo offers. 

“I… _think_ that would be a bad idea,” Akito says, and looks to Shigure for clarification. 

“No, you should definitely punch them,” Shigure says.

“Don’t listen to him,” Akito decides.

“I’ll punch them,” Yuki says.

“Yuki can punch them,” Akito agrees, after a moment of thought. 

“Why does he get to punch them and I don’t?!”

“The rat can get away with murder,” Akito says, and Yuki smiles, primly, in that way that makes Akito think that Yuki really could murder someone and get away with it. 

She’d help him.

-

Akito meets with her teacher before the term officially starts, because she’s considered an exceptional case and therefore exceptions must be made. She’ll be traveling to and from school by car, she’ll be allowed to miss school whenever she’s sick, she’ll have more leeway than usual. Akito doesn’t think it’s necessary -- except for the being sick part, which is fair -- but she doesn’t want to risk having the small bit of freedom taken away.

It all goes with a sizeable donation to the school, ostensibly for education purposes but mostly as a bribe. 

Akito climbs into the backseat and then lays across the entire thing, the picture of melodrama, her head on Kureno’s lap and her feet against the door.

“Take your shoes off if you’re going to do that,” Hatori says, glancing at them in the rearview mirror. “And put your seatbelt on.” They’d hired a driver, because Hatori was too busy to be the one chauffeuring her back and forth on a daily basis, but he hadn’t completed his background check and Hatori had wanted to meet with the school nurse before Akito started.

Akito kicks her shoes off. She puts her seatbelt on, for a given definition of on, given that she’s still sprawled across the car in a decidedly unsafe way. Hatori picks his battles, however, and is a safe driver besides that, so he just refocuses on the road.

“Was it tiring?” Kureno asks. 

“It wouldn’t be, if I wasn’t starting so _late_ ,” Akito grouses. Everyone else at school will know more than her, everyone else at school will have years and years of social interaction and knowledge that Akito simply doesn’t have. Interacting with people on the estate is different. 

“You’ll catch on,” Kureno says, reassuringly, letting his hand drop down onto Akito’s shoulder. 

“I thought,” Akito says, rolling onto her back and looking at the ceiling of the car, “that I’d never have to worry about what anyone thought of me, because I didn’t think anyone else would matter outside of the juunishi.”

“Does it matter now?” Kureno asks.

“Not yet,” Akito says. “But I’m sure it will. I want to be liked, so I’m sure I’ll want people at school to like me.”

“You’re more likeable than you know,” Kureno offers, and Akito smiles. She finally sits back up, watches the world blitz by and finally feels like she’s becoming a part of it. It’s a terrifying thought: the world is so much bigger than the Sohma estate, and there are countless people filling it up, with their self-made bonds and relationships. 

“I think you’re obligated to like me,” Akito says. A look crosses Kureno’s face -- a shadow of that old curse; that broken bond that used to be between them. It isn’t there, and it hasn’t been, for years, and yet Kureno still held Akito when she had nightmares, Kureno still stayed by her side. “But thank you for saying it.”

-

Shigure moves out.

Akito knows it’s what she wanted, but it still feels strange: that she can’t just run to his door in under five minutes, that he isn’t literally a moment away if she needs him. She can still call him -- she’s already memorized his new phone number, just in case -- but there’s distance, now.

“You know, they say distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Momiji says, helpfully, and Akito lets her head thunk down against the table.

“You could have moved in with him,” Yuki offers, helpfully.

“No,” Akito says, into the wood of the table. “If I spend too much time with him, they’ll worry that he’s influencing my decisions.”

“Even though we live with you?” Momiji asks. 

“You’re too young to influence my decisions,” Akito says, and Momiji doesn’t look put out by this. “Yuki is too -- we’re too alike, and Kureno is…”

Kureno glances at Akito over his laptop. He drops his chin into his hand, propping his elbow up and watching her, expectantly, a smile on his face, and Akito groans and looks away.

“...he’s too _nice_ ,” Akito says. “I’m the one that influences Kureno.”

“You know, you’re the adult in this house,” Yuki says, to Kureno, and Kureno laughs. 

“I can start imposing bedtimes,” Kureno offers, and Yuki shakes his head as Akito smothers a smile behind her hand.

“I’ll go to bed early if I can sleep with Akki!” Momiji volunteers, shooting his hand up. 

“Ah,” Akito says. “The real reason I can’t move in with Shigure. At _least_ the two of you would come with me.”

Yuki doesn’t deny it, and Momiji hops around the table to latch onto Akito, who reaches a hand up to ruffle through his hair. Momiji was one of the louder members of the juunishi, but Akito has learned to appreciate that when it’s balanced out with his quieter moments. 

Being around Ayame so often has primed Akito to believe that she can handle virtually anything, really.

“I’m still visiting on weekends,” Akito says. 

“I’ll be here,” Kureno offers, before Momiji can invite himself over. 

“You live here,” Yuki deadpans, and Akito laughs again.

-

Akito shows up at Shigure’s door two days after he moves in.

“I want a key,” Akito says.

“What are you wearing?” Shigure asks. Akito smiles.

“Since I wasn’t able to come earlier, I thought I’d show you my uniform,” Akito says. It’s a nice uniform -- the academy she’s going to is top of the line, and that extends to the uniform. It’s a pleated skirt and blazer look, and Shigure’s eyes scan her top to bottom and then back up in a way that makes Akito feel distinctly like she’s pitching forward into adulthood all at once.

Shigure reaches out, and Akito steps into his arms. 

“It looks good on you,” Shigure says. 

“Is this the part where you tell me it looks better _off_ me?” Akito asks. 

“You’ve been reading too many books,” Shigure says, but there’s a smile on his face. Akito leans up and kisses him, and Shigure kisses back with that kind of hunger that makes Akito ache inside. 

“Are you staying the night?” Shigure asks. Akito is very aware, suddenly, that they’re still in the doorway to the house and not in the house proper, and she steps forward until Shigure shifts his grip and hikes her bodily up off the ground.

“Don’t pretend you were ever going to let me leave,” Akito says. Shigure gives her a smile, closes the door with his elbow, and takes her into his room.

-

Having sex with Shigure feels like fulfilling a prophecy. He’s loved her for longer than she’s been alive, and she’s loved him longer than she remembers, and the only thing keeping them from this was the mismatched ages. Akito has dreamed about it: about Shigure’s hands on her body, about her hands on his. The real thing is different than the dreams.

She likes it. 

Shigure goes slow, the first time; lets her take the lead. She takes off her uniform piece by piece and watches the way he watches her, his gaze taking in every fresh patch of skin as it’s exposed. She rides him until her thighs give out, and then he presses her against the new floor, kisses her until she doesn’t have a single thought in her head save for the feel of him inside her.

“I love you,” Shigure says, afterwards, caressing her cheek. She lets her eyelids flutter, leans into the touch. Akito has always struggled with her identity -- the boy her parents wanted; the girl she should have been; the god everyone expected; the head of the family they required -- but she can see herself in his gaze. Just Akito, naked and flushed, deconstructed down to her most basic parts, and she knows that he loves that person, whatever that person is deep inside of her, darkness and all.

“I love you,” Akito echoes.

The second time, Shigure doesn’t go slow at all.

-

Akito starts school. She’s nervous the first day, but it peters out as the day goes on: her life, for all its oddities, isn’t a shoujo manga, and the opportunity to make friends presents itself quickly and easily. By the end of the week, she has a small group of people that call her Akito-chan and admire her carefully arranged bento with the slightly burnt tamagoyaki and don’t question her private car with driver.

“It’s fine,” Sakura says, with a vague gesture of her pencil, when Akito says she can’t go out after school without inconveniencing the driver. (Truthfully, Akito isn’t quite ready for the idea of hanging out with them outside of school.) “Riko-chan’s mom dropped her off on a motorcycle once.”

“Sakura!” Riko whips around to smother her hand over the other girl’s mouth, and a small squabble happens at the edge of the school doors.

“Oi, both of you,” Nagisa says. Akito steps out of the way, watching the way the other three girls fall into their roles as easily as the juunishi do at home. Nagisa grabs onto both of them, and they separate, laughing. “If you’re going to fight, do it where the teachers _can’t see_.”

“Akito-chan,” Riko says, still vaguely pushing at Sakura’s hands even around Nagisa’s thin frame, “you have to give us a ride in your car sometime, okay?” 

Akito hesitates, and then offers them a smile. “If you show me your mom’s motorcycle,” Akito offers, and Riko shrieks again, laughing as she weasels out of Nagisa’s grip to throw herself back at Sakura.

“You said you’d stop telling people about that!” 

Nagisa rolls her eyes, and then offers Akito a smile like she’s part of a joke. It’s a joke that Akito never expected to be in on, and it’s so -- _easy_. She didn’t think it was supposed to be this easy. If it was this easy, then why was the curse so important…?

-

There’s no car for Akito on Friday, and this presents itself as a confusing problem for a brief moment before she sees Shigure at the school gates. More than that, she _hears_ him at the gates, because half the school is commenting on him, either as the hot guy at the gates or the weird guy in kimono.

He’s both, but Akito doesn’t say that; she just splits apart from her group for a moment.

“Akito-chan?” Nagisa calls, but Akito steps too quickly over to Shigure, lets her hands reach out to grab at his sleeve.

“I thought I’d pick you up,” Shigure says. He holds a hand out for Akito’s school bag, and she offers it over to him, ignoring how ridiculous it looks with his newfound habit of dressing in traditional clothing. “You wanted to stay the weekend, right?”

“Yes,” Akito says. “But I thought I was going to be driven there.”

“Hm, then I wouldn’t have an excuse to take you on a date,” Shigure says, and Akito can feel both her face flush and the eyes of her friends glued to her back. Akito whips back around to look at them, but doesn’t quite let go of Shigure’s sleeve.

“I,” Akito says.

“Is that,” Sakura says, “your… broth--”

“It obviously isn’t!” Riko snaps, and then Nagisa steps forward, slides an arm around the waist of both of her friends and tugs them away.

“Have fun on your date,” Nagisa says, cheerfully. “I’ll take these two out!”

“Akito-chan, you’re telling us _everything_ ,” Riko says, and Akito slowly turns back around to look up at an entirely too amused Shigure.

“You’re the worst,” Akito says. “You just came here to see a bunch of high school girls in uniform.”

“I won’t say it’s not a nice bonus,” Shigure says, “but I came here to see _one_ high school girl in her uniform.” Shigure reaches out, tucks a strand of Akito’s hair behind her ear. She hasn’t been growing it out, exactly, but she hasn’t been maintaining the same cut that she used to. It’s better for everyone, she thinks, if she and Yuki don’t have the exact same hairstyle, when he worries about looking too much like a girl and Akito worries about looking -- well, too much like _anything_ , really. 

“You’d better take on a _really_ good date,” Akito says, and slips her hand into Shigure’s so they can walk. He leads the way, which is good: Akito barely knows how to get home, much less how to get to his house. She’ll learn, she thinks, but this is the first time she’s walked it. 

It’s easier to focus, the further they get from the school. 

“You already made friends,” Shigure observes, while they wait for a light to change.

“Mm,” Akito agrees. “It’s -- easier than I thought.”

“It’s keeping them that’s the hard part,” Shigure says, and Akito looks up at him. 

“Is it?” Akito asks. 

“You become friends of circumstance,” Shigure says. “You’re at the same school, doing the same things, so it’s easy to be friends. Then you graduate, and that friendship can become a burden. You have to make time in your busy day to see the people that you used to see without effort. Then you’ll get married, and you’ll have your own family to spend time with, and they’ll have theirs, and scheduling is even harder. Maybe you replace that friendship with an easier one. A coworker. Someone closer.”

Akito listens to Shigure, the level sound of his voice as he says it. He says it like it’s something that doesn’t matter to him -- and maybe it doesn’t. Maybe Shigure had those kind of relationships in highschool and he simply let them drift out of his fingers like water.

“If it was a burden,” Akito says, “would you still love me?”

Shigure looks down at her and smiles, indulgent and easy. “I would,” Shigure says, “though it must be hard to imagine.”

“Hmm, it’s like,” Akito says, “you’re so easygoing that it’s hard to know what you really want in life. The only thing that you let people see is what’s on the surface. I think it would be hard to have a deep bond with someone like that, if all that was tying you together was circumstance.”

“Is it hard for you?” Shigure asks. 

Akito hums as she considers it. Her world is expanding; changing. She’s doing things she never thought she’d do in a world she never thought she’d see. She didn’t think she’d ever be standing on the sidewalk in the middle of spring in a _skirt_ , attending a normal highschool and getting picked up by Shigure.

“Loving you is easy,” Akito says, cautiously. “But it’s hard, sometimes, to tell what you’re feeling. If it’s as deep for you as it is for me.”

Shigure stops walking, and Akito turns to face him, automatically. She puts her hand on his chest, and he lets her, lets their position get far too close for a casual walk on the sidewalk in full view of anyone.

“One day, the bond will break,” Akito says. “And I won’t have any guarantees anymore. I won’t have that proof that you’ll stay with me. I think that will be harder than anything.”

“You’ll have to trust me at my word,” Shigure says, too light for the look in his eyes, for the way he drops his hand to Akito’s hip. 

“If I ran away,” Akito says, “you’re not the sort of person who would chase after me.”

“No,” Shigure says. “But I would wait for you to come back to me.”

“Well,” Akito says, and lets her eyes slide away as she steps back to an appropriate distance. “I think you’ve had to wait long enough.” 

Shigure’s hand finds hers again, as easy and normal as anything, and Akito wishes everything could be this easy to hold onto.

-

Nagisa sits down very primly at lunch next to Akito, sliding her hands underneath her skirt to smooth it out before she turns her gaze onto Akito.

“What,” Akito says, caught off guard.

“Three, two,” Nagisa says, counting down on her fingers.

Riko and Sakura show up right as the last finger goes down, slamming their lunches down hard enough that the surface rattles ominously.

“Tell us about your boyfriend,” Sakura demands, immediately. 

“How old is he?” Riko asks. “He looks older.”

“Is it a forbidden romance?” Sakura asks. “Do your parents know? Are you getting _married_?”

Akito looks at Nagisa, overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, and Nagisa simply shrugs as she steals a cucumber slice out of Riko’s lunch.

“You brought this on yourself,” Nagisa says, and pops the cucumber slice in her mouth.

“He’s,” Akito says, very slowly, wondering how well she can dodge the parts of this conversation she doesn’t want to have. “Twenty-one.” 

“So he _is_ your boyfriend!” Sakura says, like it’s some sort of gotcha moment. Akito looks bewildered, but tries to do so politely.

“Yes?” Akito says.

“Why’s he wear kimono,” Riko asks, but it comes out a little garbled as she tries to shove the entirety of her lunch into her mouth at once to maximize conversational time.

“He’s a writer,” Akito says. “He says writers should wear traditional clothing.” Which -- makes a kind of sense that is actually quite nonsensical, but Akito knew when to pick her battles and trying to dress Shigure was far, far beyond a battle she wanted to fight.

Besides; he looked good in them, and she liked to nestle in his haori. 

“A _writer_ ,” Sakura says, dreamily. “What does he write?”

“Lit...erature…?” Akito volunteers. He hasn’t been published yet, but he’s been writing, and he talks about it, sometimes. He lets Akito read it all, or he reads it outloud to her, and she thinks he’s a good writer, but that isn’t surprising: Shigure can be good at anything he puts his mind to, it’s just that he puts his mind to so little.

“That tells me nothing,” Sakura says, with a vague gesture of her chopsticks. Nagisa swiftly steals another cucumber while Sakura is preoccupied. 

“When his book is out, I’ll give you a copy,” Akito says, finally.

“Does he have any hot friends,” Riko asks.

Akito thinks of Hatori and Ayame immediately and feels a surge of possession run through her that nearly overwhelms her entirely, a roll through her body that sparks jealousy behind her eyes. She inhales; pretends to think.

“Not anyone that’s single,” she says, which is a lie: Hatori is only married to his work, and Ayame might be seeing someone but he hasn’t introduced her to Shigure yet, so it can’t be that serious. 

“Damn,” Riko says. “Everyone in your family is hot, huh?”

“I,” Akito says, helplessly.

“Don’t curse,” Nagisa says, and steals the last of Riko’s cucumbers.

“I guess twenty is kind of old for us,” Sakura says.

“Don’t call Akito-chan’s boyfriend old,” Nagisa says.

“He’s kind of old,” Riko says. 

“I’ve known him forever,” Akito says. “So he doesn’t seem old to me.”

“Oh, romantic,” Sakura says. “A slowburn love, huh. Like a manga.”

“When did you m-- _where did all my vegetables go_?” Riko starts, then whips her head around to look at Nagisa, the picture of innocence as she places her chopsticks down.

“Thank you for the meal,” Nagisa intones, seriously. 

“Na-gi-saaa!”

-

“My friends think you’re old,” Akito says. Shigure has furniture now, which makes the house look less like someone with an insane book fetish is squatting there. She sprawls across the table like she does the one at home, watching Shigure as he pulls food out of the fridge. It’s food from the estate, and Akito can tell immediately, because Shigure can’t cook and it’s too homemade to be takeout.

“Did Kureno send that?” Akito asks.

“Yes,” Shigure answers, and then pauses. “Akito-saaan, do you think I’m old?”

“Shigure-san,” Akito shoots back, undeterred, watching the way Shigure pulls a face and shudders at the suffix. “ _I_ don’t think you’re old, but I also remember when you were under 150 centimeters tall.”

“Dark days,” Shigure says. “Ah, you were cute, though.”

“I’m not cute now?” Akito asks, feeling vaguely offended.

“No, no, you’re beautiful now,” Shigure says. “There’s a difference.” 

Akito is placated by this, even though she thinks she might want to be cute, also. Sometimes. She still drags herself up to sit properly when Shigure sets the food down. It’s just reheated food from the maids -- she can tell Kureno didn’t actually make it -- but it’s better than what Shigure usually tends to eat, from what she’s seen. Akito scoots around until she’s sitting next to Shigure to eat.

“I’m not joining any clubs,” Akito says. “I don’t have time for it. But my friends--” The phrase still feels strange on her tongue, and it makes her trip for a moment. “--My friends want to spend time with me outside of school, so…”

“If you’re asking if you can invite them here, you _do_ own this house,” Shigure says, and Akito jabs him in the ribs with her elbow.

“I can do whatever I want because I’m god and the head of the family,” Akito says, exasperated, “but I’ve been told that’s rude and mean, so I’m _asking nicely_.”

“Does asking nicely usually involve bruising my side?”

“When you’re involved,” Akito says, darkly, and then spitefully piles all her onion slices onto Shigure’s plate. 

Shigure laughs, and Akito scowls until he leans down to drop a kiss onto her forehead. Not her lips, which Akito would protest, except that they’re in the middle of eating and that’s a level of relationship intimacy she’s not quite ready for given that he’s about to have onion breath.

“I don’t mind bruises from you,” Shigure offers. “Your friends can come over whenever they want. I know how to be careful.”

-

Shigure gets a real bed, which is surprising, but only because Akito has used futons her entire life.

“It goes against the traditional writer aesthetic,” Akito says, “doesn’t it?”

“Well,” Shigure says, “that’s true, but you’re the only one who sees the inside of my bedroom. Don’t tell anyone, and they’ll all think I sleep on a futon.”

Akito lets a puff of air out that’s almost a laugh. She sits on the bed and bounces gently, testing the feel of it. 

“Did you get this,” Akito says, slowly, “specifically as a place to have sex?”

Shigure glances at her sidelong, hands tucked into his sleeves. “You think the worst of me,” he says. Akito reaches out, and Shigure steps forward, slipping into the loop of her arms.

“You’re the worst,” Akito says, and kisses him.

She likes the bed.

-

Akito’s friends never actually come over. She hedges around the prospect for the longest time before Nagisa abruptly goes, “Oh, you’re from _that_ Sohma family?” and then everything is made abundantly clear to everyone but her.

“You sure you’re allowed to be friends with the common man?” Sakura asks.

“No one can stop me,” Akito says, which makes her sound rebellious but is also true. After that, the secret’s out, and every once in awhile instead of taking the car home, they figure out the walking path; Nagisa goes out of her way to see her all the way to the Sohma gates, and then waves as Akito disappears within them.

It’s nice, she thinks.

Yuki is home when she gets there, and she drops her schoolbag down and sits next to him.

“Akito,” Yuki says, carefully, attention pointedly on the daytime anime on the television and not on her. “Can I go to a different school, too?”

“What?” Akito asks. 

“I want to go,” Yuki says, carefully, “to school with everyone else.”

And: oh, Akito thinks, how stupid it must have been for her to overlook this. Of course Yuki would want that. Yuki, who craves friendship like breathing and who has it stolen away from him at every opportunity; Yuki, who has held onto Akito at night and asked her if there was any point in being alive at all. He’s managed to find his own bonds within the juunishi, so of course he wants to spend time with them.

Savagely, Akito thinks, _of course I’m not enough_. 

“Yes,” Akito says, instead, and swallows down the feeling that makes her want to reach out and hold Yuki until his bones crack underneath her grip.. “You can all go to the same middle school.” 

Yuki looks at her and smiles, and she hates it and loves it at the same time. She’ll do anything to protect him; she wants to lock him away forever.

-

“You’re still awake?” Shigure asks. The moon is high, the light streaming in to illuminate the room as Akito pads from the bedroom into his office. He just has a desk lamp on, and the scene is quiet and domestic as she drops down next to him, the hemline of the shirt she’d stolen off his previous wardrobe riding high on her thighs.

“I can’t sleep,” Akito says. Shigure taps his pen on his lips for a moment before he sets it down. 

She has nightmares, sometimes, still. She thinks they must pale in the face of the other juunishi, but they still overwhelm her: betrayal and terror, the sharp feeling of loneliness. Dreams of someone that isn’t her; dreams that are her. They mix together with all of her rage until she dreams of blood and imprisonment, of breaking everyone around her. 

“What were you dreaming about?” Shigure asks. He’s too smart; he knows her too well. He reaches out, a gentle, tender motion, and Akito goes into his grasp entirely, sitting in his lap between him and his desk and letting him rest his chin on her head. 

Akito doesn’t respond immediately, and Shigure doesn’t make her. He doesn’t refocus on his writing, he just holds her, letting her turn into his kimono and close her eyes. He trails his hand up and down her arm, a comforting touch more than anything else.

“If I don’t destroy the cat’s room,” Akito says, “Kyo would go there. He’d be put there, forever. He’d never get to leave, or see anyone besides me.”

Shigure doesn’t reply. His movements don’t stutter in the slightest.

“I want to do it,” Akito says. “I want to. I want to lock him away. I want to lock Yuki in a dark room with only me until he can’t imagine being anywhere I’m not. I want to be all that any of you can see.”

Shigure still doesn’t reply, and Akito finally turns to look at him. He looks down at her, and she hesitates for a long moment.

“You don’t do any of it,” Shigure says, finally.

“I want to,” Akito says. 

“But you don’t.” Shigure says it firmly enough that Akito can believe it, for a moment. “When you’re on a bridge, do you ever feel the urge to jump off? When you’re in a car, do you ever think what would happen if you took the wheel and spun it as hard as you could?”

Akito has. Of course she has. 

“It’s a well-known phenomenon,” Shigure says. “It’s called, ‘the call of the void’. It isn’t what you think about doing, it’s what you actually do.”

“It’s,” Akito says, and feels very young, “scary.”

“You’re allowed to be selfish and jealous,” Shigure says. “You’re allowed to demand more time with the people you love. We _are_ yours.”

It’s a thrum through her: visceral and comforting, and it makes her stomach twist with the truth of it. That sense of belonging, of ownership, of bone-deep possession: she could possess each one of them so wholly that they could never think of anything but her, and it would still not be enough. 

“You won’t be forever,” Akito says, and thinks of Kureno.

Shigure reaches out to tilt her chin up. She looks at him and feels weak: she wants to cry, she wants to bury her head into his chest and sob for all the things she is and all the things she wanted to be. 

“We’ll always be yours,” Shigure says, “because you’ll always be ours. You’ve made sure of that, whether or not you’re our god.”

She wants to believe it, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t see how someone like her is anything special, when you remove away the idea of ‘god’, when you remove being the head of the family. She’s just -- a girl, if even that; she’s just confused and hopeless and awkward and never knows what to say to make anything better in the slightest. 

“I’ll always,” Shigure says, “be by your side, Akito.”

Akito can’t explain why that’s easier to believe, but it is. More than just his loyalty as the dog, he’s -- Shigure. Kind, horrible Shigure, who can get under her skin and placate her so easily, who has loved her since before she was born and waited for her all this time. Who has never tried to change her. 

“I know,” Akito says. “I know.”

-

Yuki gets into the school that he wants, to attend alongside Kyo and -- eventually -- Hatsuharu. He’s smart and attractive, and his mother is absolutely furious that he’s being allowed to degrade himself to such a base school, so Akito sidesteps the entire conversation by offering to let all the juunishi go to the next school up, and no one wants to see the cat get an education that good, so the problem fixes itself.

“Hmm, the school is close to my house, isn’t it?” Shigure asks, in one of his visits to the main house. Despite Akito staying over literally every weekend, Shigure still stops by frequently -- to harass Hatori, probably, or someone else.

“Mmm,” Akito agrees, because she likes being able to huddle in his lap on the engawa and become little more than a pile of heavy fabric. She’s used to wearing modern clothing, now, from her school uniform to the dresses Shigure and Ayame want to put her in and the more mild clothing she chooses for herself, but she still likes to wear kimono when there’s a chill in the air, let the layers pile on until she feels invisible underneath them. 

“The commute might not be healthy for him,” Shigure says. 

“Hn,” Akito says, because Shigure clearly has a point that he’s getting to in his slow, meandering way.

“I have a spare bedroom,” Shigure says, finally, and Akito feels her blood run cold. Shigure seems to have anticipated it, because his hands go down -- they’re warm from where he’s had them tucked into his sleeves -- and find their way into Akito’s cocoon, letting the fabric slide away from her shoulder so he can trace along her chin. “You’d be with him every weekend.” 

Akito wonders if it was easier to let Shigure go because she knew he’d come back.

“If Yuki moves in with you,” Akito says, “we can’t have sex in the living room anymore.”

“It’s a high cost,” Shigure says, his voice seeming deeply mournful even as he strokes down Akito’s back. She still doesn’t bother with underlayers with kimono, and there’s no point in the restricted movement a bra would give her -- it’d look _weird_ , given she has a chronic inability to wear her obi where she should -- so his hand is just a warm trail on her naked skin. 

“It’s not like you to be so selfless,” Akito says, and she sounds more critical than she means to. 

“If you’re going to break the curse,” Shigure says, “then you need cracks.” 

Akito accepts this. She wants to break the curse. 

“Does it hurt,” Akito asks, sitting up just enough that she can lean further against him, press open the fold of his kimono until she can touch skin, “to talk about it? Breaking.”

Shigure looks at her and cups her face in his hands, draws her close until she’s pressed against him, fabric rustling as he kisses her. 

“It hurts,” Shigure says, and Akito thinks it might be the most honest she’s seen him. “But if you’re here, then it’s bearable.” 

“You and Kureno are the only ones who know,” Akito says. She leans back, and Shigure cradles her to him like he did when she was a child, so she turns her face into his neck. “It would hurt them, wouldn’t it? If I told them.”

“I think it would scare them,” Shigure says. “I think most of them want the curse to break, too -- but it isn’t so easy to talk about unless something else hurts more. Does it hurt you?”

“It doesn’t -- hurt,” Akito says. “It feels like I’ll cry. It feels like being empty inside. When Kureno’s curse broke -- I thought it would hurt, but it felt like something was gone, but it was something I was never meant to have. Like I had a glimpse of something I shouldn’t, and I’d always remember the feeling but never be able to feel it again.”

Shigure hums, because Akito’s voice is thicker than she means for it to be. It’s hard to talk about. It’s hard to think about. She wants the curse to break, she wants the juunishi to be free, but she can only think about it if she finishes the thought with the idea that they’ll stay with her even after that.

Truthfully, she wants the curse to break because she thinks they might love her even more, if they’re free. 

“I’ll let Yuki move in with you, if he wants to,” Akito says, finally. “But you should know that means Hatsuharu and Kyo are going to be there all the time, which means Isuzu and Kagura will, too.” 

“I’ll reinforce the doors,” Shigure says, with a sigh, and Akito smiles.

“That won’t be nearly enough,” she says.

-

Akito isn’t there for the discussion. She doesn’t trust herself to talk to Yuki about it until he’s already agreed, so he knocks on her door in the evening and she opens it up. She’s taller than him, for the moment, the four years she has on him letting her have that, but she knows it won’t last long.

“Are you really okay with me moving out?” Yuki asks. 

“I think it’ll be good for you,” Akito says. “You’ll be able to have friends over more easily, if you don’t live here.”

“That isn’t what I asked,” Yuki says, getting straight back to the point. He reaches out, and Akito meets his hand halfway, joins their fingers together. “I know you aren’t alone here, but we’ve been together for so long. I don’t want you to feel lonely, either, Akito.”

And: ah, there it is, that warmth that overpowers any darkness inside of her. Yuki is so earnest and so _bright_ , and she wonders how the Sohma family can produce people that are so pure when the entire estate feels like it’s rotting from the inside out, drowning in the ghosts of tradition.

“I’ll be there every weekend,” Akito says, and squeezes his hand. “And I have Momiji, and Kureno. If I feel too lonely, I’ll be able to see you.”

“You sound,” Yuki says, gently, “like you’re trying to convince someone.”

Akito wonders when Yuki got so _smart_. Letting him go live with Shigure is a terrible plan if only because he’s going to learn from him, and who knows what intuition he’s going to wind up with?

“I don’t want you to move,” Akito says, finally, “but I’m not going to let you stay for my sake.”

“Akito--”

“I’m not,” Akito says, firmly, “going to let you stay for my sake, no matter what.”

Yuki considers this. He steps forward, carefully, and Akito hugs him. Yuki is more reserved with his touches than Momiji, but once he commits to something he goes all in, and he hugs Akito hard enough that she’s surprised at the strength of it. Martial arts is good for him, she thinks.

“If you need me,” Yuki says, “I’ll come back right away.” 

“If you need me, I’ll be over there immediately,” Akito says, in return. Yuki finally pulls back from the hug, and Akito lets him go, but lets her arms trail down his shoulders to his elbow, to his hands. She doesn’t want to break the contact. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” Yuki asks, like he’s telepathic, and Akito smiles. 

“Mm, but you have to listen to me complain about my homework,” Akito says, and Yuki smiles back. 

“Okay,” he says.

-

Akito can tell the exact moment in time that Yuki tells Momiji he’s going to be moving out because Momiji immediately flings himself, sobbing, into Akito’s arms the second she steps into the front door.

“Ah,” Akito says, still having no idea how to handle other people crying. What would Kureno do? She drops her schoolbag and wraps her arms around Momiji, and he buries his face into her and hiccups.

“You’ll be able to visit,” Yuki says, tiredly. 

Akito summons the vast majority of her strength to not run from the situation. She’s god, she can handle some interpersonal politics. Also, she’d seen Riko cry for a solid hour over the captain of the baseball team dating someone else, so she had a vague idea of how to comfort someone. Maybe.

“Everyone is moving out,” Momiji says, mournfully, and Akito hates that she hadn’t even really thought about _him_ in the decisions. It hadn’t even occurred to her. She’d thought about Yuki, and Shigure, and herself, and she’d barely spared a thought for Momiji, and who was that fair to? 

Akito’s kindness is always an afterthought, created from a desire to benefit from a situation, and she hates it about herself. 

“If you’re lonely on weekends,” Akito says, carefully, “why don’t you stay with Haru?” 

“Hmm,” Momiji says, and it’s more of a whine than a consideration. “I’m going to go to school with them, too, okay?” 

Akito does the mental math involved in calculating Momiji’s education, which is complicated by the years spent in an international school versus the time in the Sohma schools, and then she gives up.

“That’s fine,” Yuki says, before Akito can agree, and Akito can’t help but look slightly relieved, because she’s just terrible at comforting anyone when it doesn’t boil down to just being able to be like, ‘hey, it’s fine, you belong to me’ and use that as a comfort. 

This is, she has learned, not exactly comforting to everyone.

-

So: Yuki moves in with Shigure, and the house gets quieter for a single day until Momiji insistently fills the silence. It takes a week for things to equalize, and Kureno sets the table for four on accident on Monday and then rapidly removes the evidence before Momiji comes out.

“I’m staying with Hari this weekend,” Momiji declares.

“Are you?” Akito asks, mildly, because Hatori’s degree is intensive and his free time is limited.

“Mm!” Momiji affirms. Akito thinks it makes sense: Hatori carries the burden of every memory he erases on himself, and being able to be around someone like Momiji -- someone who doesn’t blame Hatori in the slightest -- must be a relief. Akito understands, in the theoretical. “So you can have fun.”

Akito offers Momiji a smile, which he returns tenfold. “I will,” she says, even though it’ll be the first weekend with three of them at Shigure’s and she’s not sure how that’s going to shake out.

-

Kyo is there when Akito gets to Shigure’s, and she blinks in surprise before she drops her schoolbag at the entrance to Shigure’s door.

“Welcome home,” Shigure offers, and catches her by the waist. She leans up automatically into the kiss, which is kept short, but Shigure doesn’t quite let go even when she turns back to look at Yuki and Kyo -- who are both looking at the television. 

“Kyo,” Akito says, finally, by way of greeting, and he looks at her. He looks a little like a cat, she thinks; one that’s afraid he’s going to be kicked out of a place he’s snuck into. Akito doesn’t quite know how to navigate the situation, so she opts to do what she normally does. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Uh… if it’s cool,” Kyo says, after a beat. 

“We can get take-out,” Shigure says, and from Yuki’s sigh Akito thinks that the bachelor lifestyle Shigure has been living must be hard on Yuki. 

“I can make something,” Kyo mumbles, almost too quiet to hear. 

Akito keeps her face carefully blank. 

“I mean,” Kyo says, “shishou’s really bad at cooking, so… I had to learn…”

“That’s fine, then,” Shigure says, and Akito slips out of his grasp to go change out of her uniform.

-

Kyo makes curry, to the amazement of the other three members of the household.

“It’s curry,” Kyo says, seemingly in complete disbelief at how terrible they are at cooking.

“Akito set a rice cooker on fire once,” Yuki says.

“It was faulty,” Akito argues immediately. 

“What kind of life do you _live_ at the main house?” Kyo says. It’s a rhetorical question, and Akito knows it, because Kyo is well aware that the rest of the juunishi live a much more comfortable life than he does, but she still glances at the kitchen morosely.

“Maybe I should have one of the maids come out,” Akito says.

“No,” Shigure disagrees. “A bachelor needs his privacy.”

“Can you really be called a bachelor?” Yuki says. “You two have been dating since I was born.”

“That’s weird,” Kyo says.

“Shut up,” Akito offers. 

“We weren’t officially dating!” 

Akito pauses, glancing at Shigure. “ _Are_ we officially dating?”

“Answer that carefully,” Yuki warns. 

“Of course we are,” Shigure says, “we just never officially stated it.”

“Make sure you _officially_ propose,” Yuki says. 

“You’re _in high school_ ,” Kyo says, helplessly, the current of the conversation dragging him well out of bounds.

“Yes, wait until after I’m an adult,” Akito says, “or they’ll claim that you’re influencing my decisions as the head of house.”

“They’re going to say that anyway,” Shigure says, entirely too cheerfully.

“The idea of this guy making decisions is laughable,” Yuki says. 

“He’ll make decisions if he can ruin lives,” Akito says, with a sigh. 

“Have you considered writing crime novels?” Yuki quips.

“No, no, I’m writing fine literature,” Shigure says.

“I’m shocked you’re not writing porn,” Kyo says.

“Oh, he’s writing that, too,” Akito offers, because Shigure has definitely made quips about doing things “for research” and she has let him get away with entirely too much.

“Is that the kind of thing you’re into? My, how the young grow so fast!” 

“Shut the _hell_ up!”

Yuki starts laughing, and Akito can’t help the way she watches. When Yuki was first left by her side, it seemed like he barely knew how to smile, and years with her had only taught him muted joy. To see him laugh like this is -- 

Painful. It probably shouldn’t be.

“I’m sorry,” Yuki apologizes, after a moment, regaining control over himself. He sets his chopsticks down, and Akito catches Shigure’s eyes -- he’s watching her as much as Kyo is watching Yuki, and Akito’s world wobbles precariously on its axis for a long moment before she takes a steadying breath. 

“The hell’re you apologizing for?” Kyo mumbles, faintly red from the teasing, and then shoves more food in his mouth to escape the conversation.

“Ah, youth,” Shigure says, dreamily, and Akito jabs him in the side.

-

Akito walks in on Yuki and Kyo kissing, and freezes. It’s too late; Yuki has already seen her, he knows that she knows. Kyo doesn’t, though; his eyes are closed, and his hand on Yuki’s face is gentler than it would usually be. Akito backs out of the room, as silent as she can, and speaks nothing of it until Yuki raps on Shigure’s door later.

“So,” Akito says. She grabs one of Shigure’s haori and waves off his questioning glance as she steps out onto the porch with Yuki. It’s too cold out for either of them, and Shigure sighs as he sets his pen down -- probably to make tea, or start a bath, or something like that.

“It isn’t,” Yuki says, carefully, “what you think.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Akito says, which is a lie. She’s thinking a lot of things, but she doesn’t really know which of them is the correct thing to be thinking, so she might as well be thinking nothing at all. 

“You’ve always had Shigure,” Yuki says, slowly. “You never had to worry about who you loved, did you?”

Akito is silent for a long moment. “I worried about being loved,” Akito says, “but not about loving.” Akito worries about permanence; about bonds; about the meaning of her own existence. She’s never doubted her own love for the juunishi. The idea that it could fade -- that it could possibly be a temporary state of being, broken as easily as anything -- is completely antithetical to her.

When Kureno’s bond broke, she didn’t even give herself the option: she poured herself even harder into loving him. She can admit that it’s different, now, even if the knowledge hurts, but she still can’t quite manage to take that to its logical conclusion: that the love she has for everyone will change, one day, if she succeeds in breaking the bond. 

The curse won’t allow her to think that far. 

“I wanted to know what it was like,” Yuki says. “And so did he.”

Akito senses that she should not bring up Kagura or Haru and their longstanding crushes, so she mentally discards the knowledge. 

“I’m glad you don’t hate each other,” Akito says, finally, because she’s not sure she’s quite glad they’re making out in Yuki’s new room of Shigure’s house in middle school, but it isn’t like she has any room whatsoever to talk. The jealousy she feels is irrational and just as cursed as anything, and so she swallows it down. 

“It’s easier and easier to ignore,” Yuki says, quietly. “Shigure says it’s --”

“--Cracks,” Akito finishes, automatically. “We’re breaking it apart.”

“Yes,” Yuki agrees. “Is it hard to think about, for you?”

“Yes,” Akito says, “but it’s easier for me than for you.” 

Yuki nods. Talking about the curse isn’t really something that’s _done_. Akito has read all the literature on it, family histories and folktales, and she isn’t any closer to breaking the curse or understanding it -- but she knows that it isn’t talked about.

So she’ll talk about it, so long as no one asks her about that darkness inside of her.

-

Akito is in her second year of high school when Kazuma approaches her. He’s allowed on the estate, and he’s allowed in the main house, but she’s still surprised to see him in one of the gardens.

“Do you mind if we talk?” Kazuma asks, careful and politely. Akito hesitates. Kureno is there, in the doorway, and she knows that he’ll make an excuse for her presence if she wants him to. But she thinks she knows what this is about, and so she doesn’t.

“I think we should,” she says, instead. They sit in the garden, and they look terribly mismatched, because Akito is still in her uniform and Kazuma is dressed like he’s from the past and the small brook bubbles as it passes them by.

“I’ve heard that Kyo-kun spends quite a lot of time with you, these days,” Kazuma says, very mildly.

“It’s not… with me, really,” Akito says. “I’m just also present.” He’s there to see Yuki, she knows; it’s just a matter of time until Kyo winds up moving in, she thinks. It’ll probably be an excuse for high school. 

She already knows she’ll say yes. 

“But you allow him in your presence,” Kazuma says. 

Akito looks at him, as piercing and searching as she can manage, but getting a read on Kazuma is worse than Shigure because Kazuma is nothing but good intentions. It’s kindness all the way down, in ways Akito can’t hope to anticipate because she simply isn’t that kind of person.

“What are you asking?” she says, aware it’s rude and equally aware that no one can call her out on it when she’s the head of the family.

“I have a vested interest in his continued freedom,” Kazuma says. He phrases it so delicately, but Akito understands it, at least: Kazuma’s love is that of a parent, and the jagged edge of it feels like it could take Akito out in an instant. 

It’s the kind of thing no one has ever directed at her. 

“I’m not,” she says, “going to lock him up. I decided that already.”

“Have you told him?” Kazuma asks.

“What?” Akito hasn’t. Akito hasn’t even thought about it. She wanted to be able to give Kyo something _solid_ \-- to break the curse, to destroy the isolation room. She didn’t just want to say, ‘you’re not going to get locked up, even though it’s my fault you had to worry about that to begin with’. 

“That boy thinks that he has no future,” Kazuma says, softly. “I want to secure one for him.”

“It’s secure,” Akito says, automatically. “I’ll make sure of it. I’ll tell him.”

Kazuma turns a smile onto her, and she nearly recoils from it, because it’s so warm and calm that it feels like it’s a violation of everything she knows. It’s parental in a way that not even Kureno has ever managed to achieve, and Akito can’t hope to stomach it.

“Thank you,” he says.

Akito doesn’t excuse herself when she leaves.

-

“Do you want to sleep in my room?” Akito asks, and Momiji answers by grabbing no less than seven stuffed animals and propelling himself bodily into Akito’s futon. She settles down next to him, and he cuddles into her in a way that’s so overly affectionate it still almost overwhelms her. It’s a habit that’s so inherently Momiji that she could never confuse it for anyone else: no one else is so quick to give physical affection to her, even within the juunishi. Even Shigure is more restrained, but that’s probably because he can get away with less.

“Are you okay?” Momiji asks, once they’re both comfortable, side by side with the blankets spread over them.

“I,” Akito starts, and then stops. She’s fine. She’s _fine_. “Do you ever -- are you ever mad? At your mother?”

It’s invasive. It’s rude, and it’s mean, and it’s the sort of thing she shouldn’t bring up. Momiji doesn’t reply for a long moment, but he finds her hand and links their fingers together while he thinks.

“I’m not mad,” he says, softly. “But I’m disappointed.” 

“Because she wouldn’t love you?” 

“Because she didn’t try,” Momiji says. “I wanted her… to at least try, with all her heart.” 

Akito is quiet for a long moment. Momiji’s voice is careful, like he’s making sure he won’t cry, and Akito doesn’t feel any emotion at all. There’s nothing but anger there, but a black void of darkness that threatens to spill out if she isn’t careful.

“I’ve heard,” Akito says, slowly, “that if my mother had lived, she would have hated me.”

Momiji is quiet for a long moment. He reaches out in the darkness, finds the top of Akito’s head and then moves down to cup her cheek and press forward against her. 

“We’d still be here,” Momiji says, in the same way that it was once all she could offer him. “I’d still love you.”

It’s a thin comfort, she thinks, and she sees now how little it must have meant when she said it to him back then -- but it isn’t the words that make the difference. It’s the fact that he’s bothering to say them at all that. It’s the fact that he _is_ there. 

“Thank you,” Akito says, softly, and wishes it would heal some of the anger inside of her.

-

“What is it doing?” Yuki says, vaguely, watching the anime on the screen as Mogeta delivers a passionate speech conveyed entirely in the word ‘Mogeta’.

“I have no idea,” Akito says, but makes no effort to turn off the television. She’s comfortable where she is, sprawled across the floor in Shigure’s house, one of his kimono spread across her like a blanket, so she can endure some terrible television for the sake of letting the moment stretch on longer.

The phone rings in the hall; Shigure is the one who gets it, padding out of his office without more than a cursory glance at the television, one eyebrow quirked. Akito wonders vaguely if he’s missed a deadline, but he returns too quickly for that, no smile left on his face.

Akito pushes herself up onto her elbows, anxiety thudding up into her chest.

“What happened?”

“Rin’s in the hospital,” Shigure says, and the anxiety beats out a rhythm in Akito’s ears so loudly it drowns everything else out. She can’t hear what else Shigure says, for a moment, because there’s just the solid ringing and the sense of failure. 

“Take me there,” Akito says.

-

Isuzu looks small against the hospital bed. It washes her out, makes her look sicker than she must be. Kureno stayed to talk to the doctor, and Akito is peripherally aware of everyone else present: Shigure, in the doorway; Yuki, with Shigure; Hatsuharu, standing near Isuzu’s bed.

Isuzu looks up at Akito, and there’s only fear in her eyes. It’s a fear that Akito knows, because she’s felt it: that terror of being left behind, of being hated, of being alone.

Akito steps over and reaches out, and her hands are shaking. Isuzu doesn’t move, sitting shock still against the intrusion, and Akito grabs her and hugs her. Isuzu makes a noise, soft and scared, like a startled animal, and Akito just holds her tighter, as mindful of her injuries as she can be.

It’s too familiar; it’s too much; it’s what Akito wanted someone to do when she was scared. What Shigure did, when she needed him.

“I’m sorry,” Akito says, and her blood screams. Akito wants to whisk her away where no one can hurt her; Akito wants to hurt her, to be the only one allowed to touch her. It raises bile up in Akito’s throat, and she presses down on the feeling before it can blossom. 

“You,” Isuzu starts, then stops. She’s shaking, and Hatsuharu is looking on, one arm raised like he might try to stop them.

“It’s my job to protect you,” Akito says. “Because all of you are tied to me. It isn’t fair otherwise.” 

“Fair?” Isuzu echoes, like she can’t wrap her head around the meaning of the word. “But you’re-- _you’re_ \--”

Akito leans back. 

“I know that none of this is fair,” Akito says. “But I want to stay with you more than anything else.”

Isuzu’s eyes fill, and Akito pulls her closer again, lets her hide her face in Akito’s shirt. 

“Haru is here,” Akito says, “and Shigure is here, and Yuki is here for you.” It isn’t the same as having loving parents -- Akito knows that better than anyone, knows what a shitty excuse it sounds like even to her -- but Akito wouldn’t trade the bonds she’s made now for her parents. The parents who didn’t love her the way that she wanted them to. 

Akito’s starting to understand, now, why all of them were born the way they were, into the families that they were, into the curses that they were. To be a family all their own, despite those that failed: to grant their own wishes, when everything else seems impossible.

“I don’t deserve that,” Isuzu says, and her voice cracks, and Akito doesn’t understand how Isuzu can think that when Isuzu has never done anything wrong. 

“You do,” Akito says, and then, because she can: “I said so.” It’s the decree of god, and Akito measures her tone carefully, lets it fall like a command on Isuzu’s skin and sink in. Akito can only put so much in it, but she hopes it’s enough, hopes she can convey that Isuzu means something to her, means _enough_ to her.

Isuzu’s arms reach up, finally, and wrap around Akito. A few moments later, Hatsuharu climbs up onto the hospital bed and does his best to wrap his arms around them _both_ , which Akito appreciates the effort involved.

-

“Why didn’t anyone _tell me_?” Akito demands, and she slams the teacups and Isuzu’s medical papers off Hatori’s table in a fit of pique. Shigure is at her side in an instant, and she doesn’t realize she’s shaking until he’s holding onto her.

Holding her back, she thinks, mutely. Hatori looks at the mess on the floor, and then ignores it.

“She didn’t want us to,” Hatori says. “It was up to her.”

“It should have been up to me!” Akito snaps, because what _good_ is she if she can’t even save the juunishi from being hurt? From being beaten until they’re hospitalized? She hadn’t even noticed. She hadn’t noticed, not at all; she’d been so wrapped up in herself and in Yuki and in Kyo and everyone closer to her that she’d never noticed Isuzu withdrawing or hiding bruises or limping.

It had gone on for years, and she’d never even realized. 

“Akito,” Shigure says, quietly. 

“It should have been up to me! I’d have done something--” 

“What would you have done?” Shigure asks. There’s that quiet, hard undertone to his voice; Akito knows what it means, knows that it means there’s things she isn’t seeing and that he’s disappointed, and she can’t handle that on top of everything else. She slams her fist against his chest, helplessly. “She thought she could wait it out. She wanted to go back home.”

“That’s not a _home_!” Akito says.

“It’s all she had,” Shigure says, and Akito feels something inside of her break at the idea of how badly she’d failed. She isn’t aware of it when she goes from standing to being held up entirely by Shigure, but she grips onto him with all her strength and screws her eyes shut to try not to cry.

“I should have done something,” Akito repeats, helplessly.

-

Akito comes down with a fever, which isn’t surprising, when she cried so hard she lost the energy to do anything but lay in Shigure’s arms. He takes her back to his house, not to the estate, and she’s peripherally aware of the plans being made: Kureno has fetched Yuki for the night, Hatori has sent all the necessary medicine, someone has already notified the school she won’t be in for a few days.

Not that she thinks there’s much medicine involved in this. It’s a fever because she had a tantrum, like a child, but there’s still a lump in her throat and her eyes still feel hot when she presses them.

“Why can’t I do any of the things I want?” Akito says, when Shigure tucks her in. He sits down next to her, reaching out to tuck her bangs away from her face. “If I wanted, I could -- I could imprison Kyo. I could ruin Yuki’s life. I could have ruined your life, and no one would stop me from doing _any_ of that, so why is it so much harder to _help_ anyone?”

“If good deeds were easy,” Shigure says, quietly, “then everyone would do them.”

Akito rolls over. She reaches out, and Shigure allows it as she worms her way halfway onto his lap; he pets her head like always, letting his fingers drag through her hair like she hadn’t cried herself into getting sick. She’ll probably be embarrassed about it when she has the energy. 

“It’s because I’m selfish,” Akito says. She can tell the medicine is kicking in: the urge to sleep is deadening her tongue and slowing her thoughts, and she still feels cold.

“Is it?” Shigure asks, and she can tell she’s caught him off guard when his hand stills for a moment before it starts up again.

“The only reason I want to save everyone,” Akito says, “is so they’ll love me.”

“Is that true?” Shigure asks, like it’s a genuine question. Like he doesn’t believe Akito. But it’s the truth, and she can tell: she wants to possess all of them, but she knows that’s wrong, so she can only settle for the next best thing. She has to be loved by them, has to hold onto them as hard as she can because she has so little else. 

“I wish,” Akito says, “I could be as nice as Hatori.”

Shigure doesn’t reply, and Akito falls asleep. She’s vaguely aware of it when Shigure finally shifts to tuck her back in, to take her temperature with the back of his hand. He kisses her on the forehead.

“You’re nicer than you know,” he tells her, and she thinks she must be dreaming. 

She’s not nice at all.

-

Akito wakes up well into the next morning. She blinks a few times before she sits up. She feels better, in physical terms. Emotionally, she still feels like an exposed nerve ending, raw and ready to explode at the slightest provocation. Shigure isn’t there right away, and Akito falls back asleep sitting up against the wall before he comes back in.

“Good morning,” he offers, when she blinks back into consciousness. He’s sitting next to her, now, and she lets herself pitch into his shoulder. He smells like fresh cigarettes; he must have gone to smoke on the porch instead of in the room with her when she was ill.

It’s disgustingly considerate. 

“What time is it?” Akito asks. 

“Still morning,” Shigure says. “But not by much. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Akito replies. 

Shigure reaches out, tilts her chin up until she looks at him. “I’m not Haa-san, you know. How are you feeling?”

Akito hesitates. Then she folds into him entirely, lets him lift her like she’s nothing until she can curl into him, wrapped securely up in his arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Shigure murmurs, satisfied with having an answer and fond and exasperated all at once. She can pick out all the different sounds, these days, knows all the things his voice can convey when his words don’t quite get there. She can read him better than she thought she could, but it seems like it’s come at the cost of dragging her attention away from other people that need her. 

“Even if I wasn’t god,” Akito says. “Even if I wasn’t anything to her, I’m the head of the family.”

“You’re in high school,” Shigure says, mildly. “You should be worrying about college and finals.”

“I don’t have that luxury,” Akito says, and sounds tired even to herself. 

Shigure sighs. “I never thought you’d be a workaholic,” he says, wistfully, as though his dreams of lazing about doing nothing have been permanently dashed. Akito knows better; Shigure doesn’t rely on work to keep him busy, but he still keeps _busy_ , and she knows he’s doing at least as much as her to help get everything ready for when she _does_ take on all of her responsibilities.

“Someone’s gotta be,” she grumbles, instead, and lets the argument -- if she could even call it that -- fall back into her memory, lingering like a bad taste on her tongue.

-

“Are you here to see Rin?” Haru asks, when Akito goes to the hospital a week later.

Akito looks at the door. “Yes,” she says. If Isuzu wants to see her, she thinks, but she doesn’t say it: none of the juunishi are free to choose a thing like that, and she doesn’t want to remind them of how little free will they have. 

“Good,” Haru says, and Akito looks at him. 

“I can’t help,” Akito says, a little helplessly. She couldn’t stop this. Couldn’t prevent it. Couldn’t do a thing but work herself into a fever out of guilt afterwards. 

“She didn’t want you to,” Haru says, simply. “She’s that kind of person, who won’t trouble other people.”

“She’s not,” Akito says, a little too defensively, “ _trouble_.”

“Neither are you,” Haru says, and it’s entirely too astute for his age. Akito knows what people say about Haru -- about the ox -- and she thinks that it couldn’t be further from the truth: he has the ability to understand what people feel without getting caught up in their words, and Akito is envious of it.

Haru doesn’t smile. He’s as stoic as Isuzu, which might be off putting but Akito just finds it relaxing because it means _she_ doesn’t have to try and fake any smiles, either. 

“Just because you couldn’t do anything then,” Haru says, carefully, “doesn’t mean you can’t do something now.” He reaches up -- Akito is still a good bit taller than him -- and pats her on the shoulder, like he isn’t the younger of the two.

“Yeah,” Akito agrees, vaguely. 

“Try calling her Rin,” Haru advises. “All her friends do.”

Haru waves when he leaves, and Akito watches him go before she steps back towards Isuzu’s room. She enters slowly, and Isuzu takes a long moment to look up at her. Her hair is like a curtain that hides her from view, and she doesn’t seem like she wants to do much to change that.

She looks the same. Akito had thought she’d look better, but she doesn’t; worry and pain still drag at the corners of her mouth, at her eyes. She’s beautiful, and she’s still so hurt that Akito can feel it if she so much as focuses on their bond for more than a second. It’s like touching her fingers to a fire, and it burns so hot it could destroy her.

She wonders what Isuzu feels in response. 

“I heard,” Akito says, “they’re releasing you soon.” To Sohma care, of course, which just means that Hatori will be there instead of the doctors. It’s an upgrade, all things considered. 

“I guess,” Isuzu replies, like she doesn’t care. Like she isn’t invested. Like being in the hospital is the same as being anywhere else.

Akito sits down next to the bed, considers her options. “Are you going to live with Kagura?”

“That’s what they decided,” Isuzu intones. 

“Do you want to?” Akito asks. 

“What?” 

“I wouldn’t, if it was me,” Akito says. “Kagura’s family is -- I couldn’t be in a house like that. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Isuzu looks at Akito for a long moment, her eyes a little wider than usual. Akito knows she’s crossing boundaries each time she reaches out like this: she humanizes herself, makes herself less of a god and more of a _person_. It makes sense to her, because wasn’t the entire bond meant to be _friendship_ , permanent and unchanging -- but somewhere along the way everything got so corrupted.

No wonder it’s a curse. 

“There’s,” Isuzu says, “no one else that wants me.”

“Of course there is,” Akito says. “Kagura’s mother volunteered, and they decided it would be a good idea because it’s _stable_ and _healthy_ , but you can stay with any of us.”

“I can’t,” Isuzu says, softly, and it sounds like a plea more than anything. 

“You can stay with Hatori,” Akito offers. “Or with Kureno and I, but I think Momiji would drive you insane. If you want to live off the estate, you can stay with Ayame, or with Shigure. Haru’s always over there to visit Yuki, anyway.”

Isuzu _stares_ at Akito even as Akito lists them off, one after the other. It’s factually true -- any of the juunishi would welcome Isuzu, even if they weren’t close already -- but Akito imagines it’s as hard to believe as the idea that what happened isn’t Isuzu’s fault. 

“You’d let me stay with them?” Isuzu asks, quietly. Her fingers dig into the hospital sheets. 

“Yes,” Akito answers, automatically. 

Isuzu says something -- manages the vague sounds of a pronoun, like she’s trying to make a decision -- and then falls quiet. Akito allows it for a long moment, then finally passes over a book. It’s from Shigure’s library, and it’s nothing special, but Akito had liked it and she’s heard that Isuzu reads, too. 

“If you hate this,” Akito says, when Isuzu takes it, “then it’s entirely Shigure’s recommendation.” 

“If I like it?” Isuzu asks, quietly.

“Then it was my idea,” Akito offers. Isuzu doesn’t smile, but her eyes flicker up to Akito’s without immediately moving away again, and Akito takes it as a victory.

-

Isuzu calls the next day.

“I want to stay with Gure-nii,” she says, decisively, all in a rush, like she’d had to work herself up to it.

“Okay,” Akito says. “Rin.”

Isuzu doesn’t say anything, but Akito can hear her fumble with the phone as she hangs it up.

-

“Are you trying to adopt the entire juunishi?” Yuki quips.

“Just the ones with shitty parents,” Akito says. Rin didn’t have much to move over, and her parents had already gotten rid of most of it, so it’s less a matter of moving her things and more a matter of assembling some furniture and getting her _new_ things. Akito doesn’t want to overstep, but Shigure had made some claim about how it was his house and he could decorate, which is what led to her and Yuki making a new bed while Haru and Kyo attempted to assemble a dresser. 

“So, all of them,” Yuki replies.

“My mom’s fine,” Haru offers. 

“See? He’s not moving in,” Akito says. “Kyo’s not, either.”

“That’s only because shihan got to him first,” Yuki says. 

“Oi,” Kyo says. “Shut up.”

“It’s nice that you’re looking out for us,” Haru says, and Akito drops the mattress into the bed frame loud enough that it rattles the supports.

“Are you alright?” Yuki asks, automatically concerned. “Was it too heavy?”

“I,” Akito says, and then swallows. “I’m not very good at looking out for anyone.”

“Better than most of the parents,” Haru offers.

“Try setting the bar higher than underground when you’re comforting people,” Yuki says, dryly.

“Oh. Sorry,” Haru says. “Definitely better than most of the parents and also most of us. Yuki can’t look after himself, you know.”

“ _Hey_.”

“It’s true,” Haru says. 

“It kinda is,” Kyo agrees.

Yuki throws a pillow at them both.

-

It takes Rin awhile to warm up to Akito. It’s fine: she anticipated that. They had never been super close to begin with, but they had never minded each other’s presence. It’s similar now, except that Rin always seems a little more on edge, always seems a little nervous. Shigure seems to calm her down as easily as he can Akito, though, and Akito tries very hard not to be jealous whenever she finds Rin curled up against Shigure.

“Tell me that you love me more than anyone else,” Akito tells Shigure, at night, and Shigure kisses her. 

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he says, “but you know that I love you the most.”

It’s enough to keep Akito’s negative emotions at bay.

Rin heals. Slowly, but steadily. Akito wouldn’t use the word “thrive”, because Rin has already been damaged in a way that Akito doesn’t think she’ll be able to get over so readily. Akito, after all, still has her own internal scars, and it’s been _way_ longer since she had to deal with her parents. 

Shigure, as a guardian, is gentle: he allows Rin to skip school and presses her just hard enough that she finally puts her uniform on and storms to class for exactly half the day, just to prove a point. She starts going more regularly after that. 

Hatori takes to picking Akito up on Fridays and taking her to Shigure’s, so he can look over Rin and so Akito can reclaim her rightful place atop the pile of Shigure’s worn kimono that inevitably occupy her side of the bed whenever she’s gone.

Haru visits. Kyo visits. Periodically, the others visit, and Akito is pleased by it, by the sight of this home that belongs -- truly -- to the juunishi and to no one else. 

It still isn’t enough.

-

At the banquet, Akito is too distracted to even focus on the dance. She stands up at leaves as soon as it’s done, and she can hear the murmuring behind her, the questions. She’s told Kureno and Shigure, of course; she needed the reassurance.

She goes outside. 

Kazuma is there, and so is Kyo, and he looks deeply annoyed to be at the main house on New Year’s. 

“Akito?” Kyo says. 

“Come inside,” Akito says, and it’s not a request: it’s a command. She doesn’t want to explain herself yet. She can’t. She just turns on her heel and walks away, and Kyo follows after her on a delay, helpless against the bond and the power she can wield. 

She takes his hand before she slides the shoji open again, and he looks at her, bewildered. He squints against the light of the banquet room, and the conversation falls flat when she tugs Kyo over the barrier of the room, into a space he’s never been allowed before.

“I’m going,” Akito says, “to break the curse.”

She doesn’t know if it’s her hand that’s shaking or Kyo’s, but she grips his fingers tighter all the same. 

“I’m not going to exclude the cat,” Akito says, “or imprison him. I won’t keep you all indebted to me.”

“Akito,” Yuki says, softly, like he’s worried on her behalf.

“That’s not usually the kind of thing you just decide,” Haru says. “Is it?”

“Kureno,” Akito says. She falters, and looks at him; he looks as serene as always, as kindly encouraging as he’s ever been. “Kureno’s curse has already broken.”

She can hear someone’s heart beating and it takes her a moment to realize that it’s her own. She wants to throw up. She’d thought it was bad when she’d first tried to go against the curse to befriend Kyo, to even think of letting anyone go, but this is a dull throbbing in her head and her chest that nearly brings her to tears. 

“I don’t know how,” Akito says, “so I didn’t want to tell you, because I can’t make it break any faster. I don’t know how to do that. But -- but it’s _breaking_. It’ll break.”

“Why are you telling us?” Rin asks. It isn’t said meanly, even if her tone is sharp; it still cuts Akito deep, makes her wonder if it’s what she should be doing.

“So that we can have lives outside of this,” Shigure says, gently. Rin’s gaze jerks over to him, and Akito can tell the moment Rin realizes that Shigure has known the entire time. There’s a raw betrayal in it, and she buries her face in her hands and Akito feels her heart ache. 

Akito had rehearsed an entire speech in her head, but it falls to pieces in front of her. She’d hidden it for a reason -- because she can’t _do_ anything -- but now she doubts herself. 

“I don’t,” Akito starts, vaguely.

“Hey,” Kyo interrupts. He tugs on her hand, which is still holding onto his, tightly as anything. “It’s not your job to break it. You’ve done plenty.”

Akito just stares at him. Her thoughts come to a screeching halt, and she tries to think of a single thing to say and manages exactly none of it. 

“Kyo!” Momiji says. He lurches to his feet and bounds over, applying himself to Akito’s side like a fashion accessory. “This means you can dance, too, right?”

The tension breaks. 

A little, at least. Not really, not _truly_ : Haru is murmuring to Rin, and Hatori is pouring himself alcohol and looking tired, and Ritsu is staring open-mouthed at the ceiling as his brain tries to compute the situation. But Momiji breaks the tension, the way that he does. 

“Hell no! I’m not dancing!” Kyo says. He brings his other hand up to jab a finger at Akito, pointedly. “There’s no year of the cat, so I’m not dancing!”

“You could dance with me,” Yuki says, mildly.

“I’m not dancing with you!” 

“The cat’d have been first, right?” Haru says, and several heads swivel to look at him. “If the rat hadn’t tricked him.”

“I don’t think that’s what actually happened,” Akito says. 

“If the cat is first, then the rat’s second,” Yuki says. “So you’re dancing with me.”

“I’m _not dancing_!”

“That means he has to dance with Kureno, too,” Momiji says, helpfully. Kyo makes a noise of complete frustration. 

“I want Kyo-kun to dance with _me_!” Kagura interjects into the conversation, seeming having recovered entirely. “It’s your penalty for missing the banquet to begin with.”

“That’s really,” Akito tries again, “not what happened.”

“That’s not my fault! If anything, make the damn rat dance with you!” Kyo says. He finally lets go of Akito’s hand so he can gesture, emphatically, at Yuki.

“She doesn’t want to marry the damn rat,” Yuki says, imperiously, sipping his tea. 

“Kyo is two-timing,” Haru asides to Rin, quietly, and she looks at him with something almost like amusement in her face. 

“ _What did you say_?” Kyo says, as Kagura whirls back around, danger flashing in her eyes.

“Ah. Danger,” Haru says, in English, and Rin rolls her eyes while Kagura bristles. 

There are fingers wrapping around her wrist again, and Akito looks up, blinks up into Ayame’s gaze as he tugs her gently towards the back of the room.

“You looked as overwhelmed as you were the first time we went shopping,” he explains, gently, and Akito drops down to sit. Ayame sits next to her, and Shigure watches them both, but he seems to be engaged in a conversation that Hatori isn’t letting him escape from so easily. Ayame tracks her gaze and offers her a smile. “Oh, Tori-san is quite annoyed that he didn’t notice, so he’s going to read Gure-san the riot act.”

“Oh,” Akito says.

“It isn’t your fault, of course,” Ayame says, with a casual gesture of his hand. His hair is down, and Akito can’t quite resist the urge to reach out and touch it. She twirls it around one of her fingers, idly trying to imagine herself with hair this long, but it keeps resulting in her either having silver hair or Rin’s exact hairstyle, and she can’t hold onto the mental image.

“Should I have told everyone?” Akito asks, quietly.

“Well… _I_ would have,” Ayame says, “but we’re very different people, you know, Akito.”

Akito looks at Ayame, wryly, but does not actually state her agreement. That much is obvious. She couldn’t ever hope to have half of Ayame’s casual confidence, frankly. 

“But I do believe that regardless of when they were told, they would have been upset,” Ayame says. He drops his voice to sound a little more serious, a little more gentle. “It’s as shocking for us to hear as it must have been for you, you know. To think that god was rejecting us--”

“I’m not--”

“--for even a moment, even though we know better,” Ayame says. He puts a hand over his heart. “And if we feel rejected, then I can only imagine how lonely you must feel.”

Akito looks at Ayame. 

“It’s,” she says, and tries not to stumble on her words, “not lonely, because you won’t leave me.”

It’s not a question, but it’s a question. 

“We won’t leave you,” Ayame says, gently, reassuringly. The hand moves to Akito’s shoulder. “You’ve formed your own bonds, stronger than these old, weak ones. You don’t have to worry about being alone, and you don’t have to bear the weight of heavy secrets like that anymore.”

Akito doesn’t feel any lighter for it, not really. She can’t recontextualize her situation well enough for that, but she still inhales slowly, looks out at the juunishi. Looks back at Ayame. 

“Don’t be mad at Shigure or Kureno,” she says, “for helping keep the secret.”

“Oh, on the contrary, I intend to convey all of my anger onto Gure-san,” Ayame says, with a flap of his hand. “I’m certain he’s looking forward to it.”

“That,” she says, “doesn’t make any sense, so it’s probably true.” Which is how a lot of things work with Shigure, she thinks. 

She leans against Ayame, and he wraps an arm around her, as secure and easy as it always was, and Akito allows herself to breathe.

-

The changes, after that, are small, but building. Shigure had called them cracks, and she can see them appearing: she goes into her third year of high school as Yuki and Kyo start to study together to go to their own high school, on their own merits. They’ve chosen together, and Akito has heard that Haru intends to follow after them, so she imagines Momiji will, too.

Rin goes to school nearly everyday, and manages to hold down food more often. She sits down to eat with them, most nights, even if she just pushes the food around on her plate and drinks the soup, and she and Akito develop a habit of eating jello late at night on the engawa regardless of weather. 

Ayame’s girlfriend moves in with him, and Akito has to have an entire discussion with him about the curse that goes absolutely nowhere because he’s so intent on Akito meeting her (which she promises she’ll do). Kagura starts shopping for universities, and Akito’s friends at school do similar, but with more stress about studying and scholarships. 

“Does it feel better?” Shigure asks, when Akito is sprawled out on the bed wrapped up in one of his haori and very little else. “Now that everyone knows.”

“It feels better,” Akito says, “to see them all have hope.” It hurts, too, and it’s always there in the back of her mind, but even the god within her seems resigned, these days: even permanence can be ended, and even promises can be broken. 

Privately, she thinks it isn’t so much being broken as that it’s been fulfilled enough times that the god within her should get some actual rest, but unfortunately she and the god aren’t on actual speaking terms.

Which is probably a good thing, all things considered.

“I still want to break it for them,” Akito says, “but I think, maybe -- being able to move forward -- being able to have a life. That means it’s already halfway broken, isn’t it?”

Shigure doesn’t answer, but that’s alright; she leans up and kisses him, and he drags her forward despite the heat, her arms wrapping around him automatically. 

“Has anyone ever told you,” Shiure says, “that you’re incredibly stubborn?”

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Akito says, and Shigure laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter @warsfeils!! this fic has consumed every part of my life and i'm going to keep writing it no matter what so i hope you're all prepared because it's 25k and rapidly counting ??? part of the reason i'm posting this now is so that i stop adding more scenes to this section so, like, libera me. please. i'm dying.


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